Famiglia
by jelenamichel
Summary: When DiNozzo Senior's health takes a hit Tony finds out about long-kept secrets and lies. His life begins to change as his two families collide, and he battles with who he wants to be versus the man he seems destined to become. DiNozzo family and T/Z.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: I started writing this way back, before I'd heard about _Flesh and Bone_ or knew that Robert Wagner was Daddy DiNozzo. I started writing it because I wanted to read a fic about Tony's dad that didn't make him a physically abusive sociopath but acknowledged what sounded like a difficult relationship. This is what I came up with. It doesn't fit with their canon relationship exactly, but there are some similarities. In fact that goes for the whole story.  
>Warnings? Coarse language ahead (but not too much). And it'll veer between some fluffiness and quite a bit of darkness. Because that's life, right? Oh, shut up and get on with it…<br>Disclaimer: Disclaimed.**

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><p>It was a moment of peace and tranquillity in the bullpen that Gibbs didn't normally experience. His agents were out sweeping a days-old crime scene for anything they'd missed the first time, taking their bickering, flirting and practical jokes with them. Gibbs couldn't remember the last time it had been so…quiet. It was so nice and he was getting so much done that he almost—almost—wasn't irritated by how long it was taking them to do the job. They'd been gone for three hours now when he was expecting it to take two. Damn it, he hoped DiNozzo hadn't let Ziva drive. She'd probably wrap the car around a tree.<p>

He heard the elevator ping and he dropped his head to the file on his desk, preparing himself once more for what Abby liked to call his magic trick. He listened for three sets of footsteps and for Tony's voice, but instead heard one set of footsteps that were light and seemed unsure. He looked up to see a woman in about her mid-thirties, quite tall, dark haired and voluptuous standing in between his team's desks and holding a baby. She caught Gibbs' eye before he could look away and pretend he hadn't noticed her, and approached him.

She gave him a tight smile that didn't quite meet her worried eyes. "Hi, sorry to interrupt you, but I was looking for Tony DiNozzo? They directed me to this floor."

Gibbs glanced at the baby and felt his stomach sink. _Jesus Christ, DiNozzo. What have you gotten yourself into?_ "He's out," Gibbs told her.

"Do you know when he'll be back?"

"No," Gibbs lied, wanting to get her out of there before the team returned. DiNozzo didn't need to find out about a baby DiNozzo this way, out of the blue and in front of all his friends.

The woman's face fell. "Oh. Could I leave a message for him?"

Gibbs nodded and she looked at him for a silent moment, waiting for him to pick up a pen. He didn't, so she talked anyway.

"Could you please tell him that his dad's wife came by? He's in the hospital and he's asking to see Tony. I've got a card here…" She trailed off as she stuck a hand into her bag, never once letting the baby wobble, and then handed a business card to Gibbs. "My cell number's on there. I'd really appreciate it if he called."

Satisfied that the baby did not have DiNozzo paternity—well, not DiNozzo _junior _paternity—he took the card and read it. _Mia Mastroni Photography._

"His dad okay?" Gibbs asked, trying to make his voice even despite the territorial feeling gnawing in his gut.

Mia shifted the baby to her other hip. "No, he had a heart attack. Two, actually."

Anything else she was going to say was cut off when the elevator doors opened again and the rest of Gibbs' team spilled into the bullpen. Gibbs sighed at their bad timing, but listened as Tony started giving him the rundown.

"We got nothing, boss. And before you start in with the slapping let me assure you that we went over every inch of that room…" Tony trailed off as he noticed Mia, and looked to Gibbs without a clue about who she was. "Witness?"

Gibbs shook his head, then looked at Mia and pointed to Tony. Mia turned to look him up and down but Tony just looked back at her in question.

"Tony?" Mia asked.

"Yeah?"

"I'm Mia. Can we talk somewhere private?"

Tony looked from Mia to the baby in her arms, and a sense of panic came over him. He looked back to Mia looking for a ping of recognition that didn't come. "Um…"

"It's okay, Tony," Gibbs said gently. "You'll want to talk to her."

He didn't entirely believe his boss, but Tony dropped his backpack at his desk and gestured behind him at Mia. "Sure. This way."

McGee and Ziva watched them go, and then looked at each other in shock. They'd joked about the day when a woman would show up out of the blue demanding child support payments, but it had always been a _joke_.

"The kid's not his," Gibbs assured them.

"Oh," Ziva managed to say, before falling into her seat.

Gibbs glanced at her. "I still want a report from the scene."

She stood up again, back on her game. "Oh. Well, like Tony said, it was clean."

...

On shaky legs, Tony led Mia to the break room on the floor. He pulled a chair out for her and then took the seat adjacent. Mia gave him a smile in thanks. He returned a weak one.

"So. What can I do for you?" he forced out.

Mia arranged the fidgeting baby on her lap and shoved a set of plastic keys in her hands to keep her occupied. "First off, I just want to say that I'm sorry we're meeting this way. I'm your stepmom, I guess. I'm married to Tony Senior. At the moment."

Tony took that in without expression as a bad feeling formed in his gut. "Oh. Nice to meet you."

Mia grimaced. "Sorry, I couldn't work out a way of saying that so that it wouldn't be weird."

Tony gave her the ghost of a smile. "You didn't do so bad. I've had worse."

"Well thanks, I guess."

"At the moment?" Tony repeated.

Mia swallowed. "Yeah. Just decided to divorce, actually."

"Sorry," Tony said. He wasn't sure if he was sincere or not.

Mia shrugged, but Tony could see that she was obviously upset by the situation. "Should have seen it coming."

Tony took a wild guess that another woman was somehow involved but he kept the thought to himself. His dad was an asshole, but Mia seemed like a sweet lady and making her feel stupid for taking a chance on Tony DiNozzo Sr wouldn't make anything better.

"Anyway," she went on. "I'm not here to tell you about the divorce. I'm here because Tony collapsed last night from a heart attack. His second in a month."

Tears sprang to her eyes, and in response Tony just felt…numb. Sad, but not. Worried, but not.

"I'm sorry," he told her again.

She looked at him with a slight frown, and it took him a moment to realise that Mia probably wasn't expecting him to comfort _her_ when it was his dad who was sick. He wished he could explain it to her but he couldn't. Not when he didn't fully understand it himself.

"He wants to see you," Mia said. "He's in a pretty bad way, and…he just really wants to see you."

If he was being honest, Tony was surprised by that. His dad hadn't wanted to see him a whole lot since he went to boarding school. He slumped back in his seat. "Right," was all he could think to say.

She grimaced again before asking, "I was also wondering if you might call his sisters? I never met them and I don't know how to reach them."

Tony sighed and dropped his head. His aunts, he could do. No problem. He might even be able to do his nonna. But it was becoming clear that he was being put in charge of his dad's affairs now, and he'd really prefer it if someone else could do that. Someone who actually knew the guy. Someone like his _wife_. But Mia was obviously hurting a lot—struggling with the possibility of losing him twice through divorce and heart attack—and so Tony nodded like it was no big deal.

"Yeah. I can call them."

"I know this sucks," Mia said. "I know that you guys aren't on great terms, and this is probably the last thing you want to do with your day. And I'm sorry for meeting you in one minute and dumping all this on you in the next. This isn't how I wanted to meet you at all."

Tony waved it away. "It's fine," he said, even though it wasn't. _Jesus, Ziva, _he cried out silently._ Come around the corner now, please. I need some help here._

He took a deep breath and looked down at the baby who was currently trying to shove a set of plastic keys down her own throat. He attempted a smile. "Who's this?"

Mia simultaneously winced and smiled, and Tony guessed the answer before she gave it. "Josie. Your sister."

Tony nodded slowly, just making himself roll with the punches now. "Right. How old is she?"

"Four months."

Tony studied the kid for any sign of himself in her face. But frankly, she looked like every other four-month-old Anglo baby in the world. He reached out to shake her tiny hand. "Nice to meet you, Josie. I would've sent a stuffed animal of some sort, but I didn't know."

Mia breathed out a laugh. "You want to hold her?"

Tony's panicked eyes snapped up to hers. "What?"

"She won't bite. She doesn't have any teeth yet."

Mia lifted Josie off her lap and held her out to Tony. Against his better judgement, Tony took her under the arms and then sat her on his thigh and tucked her into the crook of his elbow.

"They bounce when you drop them, right?" he joked.

Mia turned a genuine smile on him. "Almost always. Think you could hold her for a bit while I go to the bathroom?"

No, he didn't think he could. "Sure. It's down the hall to the left."

Mia left him alone with Josie, and he looked down as the wriggly baby. She looked back at him with the same level of interest he was probably aiming at her, and then reached up towards him. She managed to swipe at his chin with two fingers.

"You're okay for a small, squishy red thing," he told her. She pulled her fingers back into her mouth, and Tony struck up a one-sided conversation.

"So, hi. I'm Tony. I'm sorry about your dad, but your mom seems really nice. I guess you haven't met your aunts yet, but they get squeaky around babies. They'll adore you. And they're pretty cool, so…"

He sensed Ziva approaching from behind him but wasn't bothered by her hearing him. "Your nonna's probably going to have some kind of fainting episode when she meets you. She's kind of dramatic like that. The whole family is, actually. You'll get used to it, though. Just tune it out or…Joining in is sometimes easier."

He frowned at the thought. "I hope you get to join in. I don't know what Mia's planning on doing. I hope you guys hang around for a while. Or at least give me your email address." He shook his head. "You're probably too young for an email address. Do you have a Twitter account?" He sighed. "I think I'm going a bit crazy."

Knowing that he was now addressing her, Ziva walked over to the table and took the seat to his right. "We all go a little crazy sometimes."

He looked up at her and shot her a smile at the almost movie reference. "Points for effort."

Ziva tilted her head to look at the baby, and Tony wrangled Josie in his arms so that she was facing Ziva.

"And this is?" Ziva asked.

"Josie," Tony told her casually. "She's my sister, apparently. And that woman from before? She's my stepmom. Oh, and my dad had two heart attacks and might die soon."

After a few silent beats of staring at each other, Ziva summarised the situation. "Well, crap."

Tony smirked. "Yep."

With his hands otherwise occupied, Ziva settled for putting her hand on his knee. "You're not okay," she stated.

Tony grunted instead of replying honestly and put his finger in Josie's hand. She curled a tiny fist around it and held on tight. "Apparently Dad wants to see me."

"You want back up?" Ziva offered without hesitation.

He gave her an unguarded smile, thinking that he had probably never appreciated her more than he did right now, but shook his head. "Not today. I need to get a handle on it all first. Find out what's going on and start calling the family."

Ziva nodded, seeing no reason to push him just yet. "Let me know if you do." She got up and then leant over his shoulder to peer at Josie. "They all kind of look the same at this age, yes?" she whispered.

Tony turned to look at her, pleased that she'd had the same reaction as him. "Yes! They do, right? I mean, I guess they have different hair sometimes, but facially? I wouldn't be able to pick her out of a line up. And I'm _trained_ for that stuff."

Ziva smirked, but then affected a serious tone. "Beautiful though."

"Oh, of course. Precious," Tony rejoined.

Ziva straightened and, as she left, she briefly stroked the back of his head. He looked over his shoulder to make sure she was gone, and then leaned in towards Josie.

"That's Ziva," he whispered. "She's part of your family, too. Hopefully one day, it'll be more permanent."

...

Tony returned to the bullpen, intending to ask Gibbs for a few days' personal leave to deal with it all, only to find that Gibbs had already filled in Tony's application for leave form and signed it. Tony gave him a grateful look, and Gibbs squeezed his shoulder.

"Look after yourself, Tony," Gibbs said, conveying with his eyes the true meaning behind his words. _Don't let the guy push you around_.

Abby was next in line to give him a bone-crushing hug and kiss on the cheek. "I'm not above glaring at a man in a hospital bed if he deserves it," she whispered in his ear.

"Call if you need anything," McGee offered, foregoing physical contact that he knew wouldn't be welcome.

"Thanks," Tony said to them all, wondering where the hell Ziva had gotten to. "I'll see you in a few days."

He led Mia to the elevator, and they rode to the lobby in awkward silence. The thoughts swirling in Tony's head were starting to make him feel dizzy and sick, but the elevator doors opened a moment before he had to grab the wall for support.

They ran into Ziva, hands full of takeout bags, just as they reached the sidewalk outside, and Tony resisted the urge to grab her and drag her to the hospital with him.

"You are going?" she asked.

He nodded. "Yeah. Gibbs has given me a couple of days off."

"Call me later," she told him, and Tony knew that she meant whenever. Even if it was 3am.

He cleared the lump in his throat. "Yeah. Or I might come by?"

To his relief, she nodded easily. "Sure."

As Tony walked Mia to her car, she leant closer to him with a question on her face. Tony could already guess what was coming and sighed to himself.

"Is she your girlfriend?"

"No. She's my partner."

"Oh. You just seemed kind of close."

"We are," he replied in a tone that invited no further discussion.

"Oh." Mia got the message, and dropped it.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: A note about the timeline, since someone asked. I'm going to say it's set now-ish, but AU from about the beginning of season 6. I don't have Somalia and The Rift on my mind, is what I'm saying. I guess that's the most important thing to know.  
>Time to meet daddy, yes? And just a reminder, I wrote this <em>before <em>Wagner came on board so it's a slightly different relationship and character. Also, there's a lot of talking between Tony and his dad, and the Tony/Tony thing makes that totally confusing to read. So Daddy D is referred to as Anthony.  
>Disclaimer: Disclaimed.<strong>

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><p>Tony beat Mia to the hospital, but waited around in the hall until she arrived. He needed this time now to pump himself up, to reassure himself that he could handle the situation. <em>The guy in that bed is a weak, old man,<em> he reminded himself. _And you're a proper grown up now, with a life that makes you happy and friends you love. You're happy with the choices you've made, and Dad can't take that away from you._

_"Okay," he sighed quietly to himself, nodding as if it would help get the pep talk through his head. He loosened his tie from his suddenly tight throat, and shot a winning smile at a nurse who passed with a concerned expression. _Nothing to see here, move along.__

Mia came down the hall after he'd managed to get the knot in his stomach loose, and her tense expression made him think that she'd probably join him in the bathroom to throw up. He gave her a smile of solidarity, and she seemed to roll her eyes at herself.

"I appreciate this, Tony," she said. "He's up the hall and to the right. Room 314."

"You're not coming in?" he asked, feeling panic rise again.

Mia shook her head. "No, you go. I'll be around when you're done."

For a second, Tony had the overwhelming urge to turn and leave the hospital. He didn't want to go in alone and deal with the guy and his issues. But it would be a dick move and utterly childish, and just add more fuel to the bonfire that was their relationship. So he just nodded and headed down the hall to room 314.

He paused outside the door and looked through the glass at a guy he hadn't seen in at least 10 years. He felt a pang in his chest when he realized how old his dad looked, how thin and weak he seemed compared with the image Tony had in his mind. For just a moment, had to wonder if he had actually been like this all along and Tony had just been too young or bitter to notice.

Anthony looked over when Tony opened the door, and the momentary blank look on his face before realization sank in was enough to make the back of Tony's eyes burn. He cleared his throat and shut the door.

"Hey, Dad," he said, pleased beyond belief that his tone remained strong and even.

"Junior!" Anthony greeted, and held out a hand. "Thanks for coming."

Tony shook the offered hand and pretended not to notice how weak and cold his dad's grip was. "How are you feeling?"

"Like crap," Anthony replied, blunt as ever. "But I bet I look like a million bucks."

Tony smirked. "In this economy?"

Anthony laughed and gestured at the chair beside his bed. "Have a seat, kid. You met Mia and Josie?"

Tony pulled the seat closer and sat down, resting his elbows on his knees. "Yeah, I did. Mia's sweet."

"I treated her like crap," Anthony told him, having the grace to look remorseful.

Tony nodded. "Yeah, I got that feeling." Some things never changed.

Anthony grimaced. "She's divorcing me."

"How many does that make?"

"Four," Anthony replied. "Not including your mother. I've been busy the last few years."

Tony nodded, relaxing now that he knew what the tone of their relationship would be, at least for today. Anthony was in one of his more candid and self-aware moods, which suited Tony just fine. This was the side of his dad he dealt with the best, the side he got along with and could have a constructive conversation with. The side that enjoyed it when Tony made jokes, even at his expense, and lobbed them right back at him. This was the Anthony that Tony would have a beer with, if only he wasn't an alcoholic.

"Josie was a surprise," Tony told him, wanting to get that conversation out of the way first.

Anthony chuckled. "You're telling me. She's beautiful, though."

Tony nodded and hesitated before his next question. He had a feeling he already knew the answer, and it would raise a whole lot of issues he wasn't sure he was ready to deal with. And yet, he couldn't help himself. "Are there others?"

Again, Anthony had the grace to look shamed. "Two girls. Lina and Clare."

Though it was the answer he'd been expecting, Tony still felt like a truck had hit him. He swallowed and tried to block the emotional response out for a while, knowing that Anthony would respond to yelling with louder yelling and name-calling.

"Wow," he managed.

"I should have told you," Anthony said, eyes full of apology that Tony couldn't quite accept.

"Yeah, that would have been nice," he said, obviously.

"You'll probably meet them tonight," Anthony told him, making Tony's stomach churn. "Lina's driving down from New York, picking Clare up along the way."

Tony frowned as he put the pieces together. "_Driving_ down? They're of driving age?" Anthony cut his eyes away with guilt, and Tony sighed hard. "Jesus, Dad. How old are they?"

Anthony swallowed. "I think…Lina's 20-something."

Tony's eyebrows shot up. "_What_?"

"Must be 21," Anthony continued, pretending not to notice Tony's shock. "Just about to graduate from NYU. Clare's a junior in high school."

Tony felt blood flood his cheeks and the fight rising to the back of his throat. He'd expected more kids—the guy had been married five times, after all—but _adult_ kids? He rubbed his face as he took some deep breaths, determined not to let this visit end in a screaming match.

"Three sisters you never told me about," he finally said, his voice barely wavering.

"When was the last time you took one of my calls?" Anthony asked defensively.

"When was the last time you made one?" Tony hit back.

Once again, Anthony looked guilty, and Tony began to wonder what the hell had happened to the quick-tempered, argumentative asshole he'd grown up with. Twenty years ago, Anthony would have launched into the kind of self-serving, arrogant tirade that would put today's reality TV stars to shame. Tony could only assume that he'd been sober for much longer than he'd been in hospital.

"I didn't know about Lina until she was three," Anthony admitted. "Fiona, her mom, just showed up with her one day. I didn't believe she was mine at first, but…well, you'll know when you see her. Then I fell for Fiona again and got married, and then along came Clare."

"Did they know about me?" Tony asked, hating how needy it sounded.

Anthony nodded. "Yeah," he said quietly. "They always wanted to meet you."

Tony made a face that conveyed exactly his thoughts. _I would have liked that._

Anthony cleared his throat and changed the subject, having reached his limit of candour for the time being. "Work's good?"

Tony shook his head slightly at the predictability of this relationship. When Anthony was uncomfortable, he changed the subject. When Tony was uncomfortable, he made a joke. Either way, they were both masters at deflecting the real issue.

"Yeah, Dad. It's good."

"You still with the Navy people?"

"Naval Criminal Investigative Service," Tony spelt out. "Yeah, I am."

"You've been there a while," Anthony said, displaying an awareness that Tony wasn't expecting.

"About ten years."

"I saw you in the paper a couple of years back," Anthony said. "Something about a terrorist you guys'd caught.

Tony couldn't immediately remember the case, not that the particulars mattered right now. "Yeah? How'd I look?"

"Not bad," Anthony nodded. "But you were standing next to an old guy in a sports coat, which could have given you an advantage."

Tony let him have the laugh. This was another thing they did. Anger, anger, joke, clean slate, repeat.

He looked around the room at the various machines that he'd gotten familiar with over his years in law enforcement. Monitors for heart rate, blood pressure, temperature. Anthony wasn't using the oxygen tubes, but there were at least a dozen wires feeding from the palm-sized monitor hanging around his neck under his hospital gown to attach to patches around his torso. Tony had been wired up like that a couple of times in the past, and he knew how intensely uncomfortable it was. He glanced at the heart rate monitor and was surprised by how low it was.

"A heart attack, Dad?" he said, bringing the conversation around to the reason they were both there.

Anthony shrugged. "It crept up on me."

Tony gave him a look of disbelief. "How many packs a day are you getting through these days?"

"None at the moment," Anthony replied with a scowl. "They won't let me smoke in here. I'm dyin' anyway, you know? Let me have a damn cigarette!" He paused. "Are you still smoking?"

Tony couldn't help rolling his eyes. "I gave up pot when I joined the force. As for cigarettes, I never started. That one time you caught me was the first time I tried it. I told you that."

"I didn't believe you," Anthony admitted, as if Tony wasn't completely aware of the fact.

"You never believed me," Tony felt the need to point out. _I was right and you were wrong._

Anthony spread his hands in defence. "You inherited my gift of the gab! You'd be able to talk your way out of murder even if you had the guy's blood on your hands and the weapon in your car."

Tony almost laughed. "You know, that's happened to me before. _Twice_. And I couldn't talk my way out of it at all. Needed forensics to clear me."

"You must've been having an off day," Anthony said dismissively, then changed his tone completely. "They reckon I might not have long. Heart failure. The damn thing's not doing its job anymore. It's getting lazy on me."

"I'm sorry, Dad," Tony said quietly, and this time, he was pretty sure he meant it.

Anthony ran his hands over the blankets, smoothing out the creases as he forced his next words out. "I wanted to see you. I've been doing a lot of thinking since I've been sober, and I know I owe you some apologies."

Tony leant back a little, putting some self-preserving distance between them at the beginning of what he sensed was going to be a hard conversation. "How long have you been sober?"

"Little over six years now," Anthony said with the ghost of a smile.

Tony nodded with encouragement. "That's really good news, Dad. Congratulations."

Anthony shot him a self-deprecating smile. "It's been a hell of a thing to beat. They make you do these new agey classes where they want you to get in touch with your feelings and crap like that."

Tony chuckled. "Yeah, no one likes getting in touch with their feelings and crap."

Anthony grinned wider. "God damn hippies," he joked, and Tony shook his head. "Anyway, they got me thinking, and I realized that my relationship with you…it's my biggest regret."

Tony took a deep breath and forced himself to meet Anthony's eyes. After all this time, he thought he'd want to hear this, to understand why Anthony had been the man he was. So why were his hands beginning to shake with fear?

"After your mom died," Anthony said, pausing to clear his throat, "I know I failed you. I couldn't bring myself to try to make the situation better for you. I was in my own pain, and…Jesus, you never gave me a reason to stop what I was doing. You just took everything I said. I pushed you and pushed you, and you just kept taking it." He shook his head in disbelief at his own behavior. "I always thought that made you weak, and I convinced myself that if you took it, that meant you deserved it.

"But that's not true at all. You were actually stronger. Much stronger than me." He shot a look of what looked suspiciously like admiration at Tony's ashen face. "Always have been. I know now that you took it because it helped me cope with losing her." He chuckled with pride. "You were always that kid. You always stood up for your friends, and took the punishment to spare them. Always the one to see the bigger picture. Always knew how to handle me, and everyone else. You're a damn good kid, Tony."

Tony sat in silence, listening to the words but barely processing them. All he could think during this most heartfelt acknowledgement and apology was that he was only hearing it because the asshole thought he was dying.

"I'm sorry I couldn't make myself be who you needed," he said, looking at Tony with serious eyes that Tony actually began to believe. "You were a kid who needed a father, and I'm sorry I screwed it up. And I know that doesn't make up for it. Maybe it doesn't even make up for a day of it. But I regret what I did to you. And I want you to know that I appreciate the way you looked after me in those years after Beth died." He reached over to touch Tony's arm. "I had it good with you, kid. Never knew how much."

Though he tried to stop them from falling, tried to make them disappear, a tear fell anyway and Tony angrily wiped it away.

"Do you forgive me?" Anthony asked haltingly.

Tony would have liked to. Forgiving meant forgetting, and forgetting meant moving on and not worrying about it anymore. But he just couldn't. Right now, it was beyond him. He shook his head slowly.

"No, I don't," he said, meeting Anthony's eyes again. "But I appreciate you telling me that. I have to work on the forgiveness part."

Anthony nodded, but the bitterness and anger Tony had been expecting was expecting to see in his eyes wasn't there. There was only resignation. "I get it."

"I'm not trying to hurt you," Tony felt the need to explain, but Anthony just shook his head.

"I know, Tony. You don't have a malicious bone in your body."

Well past the limit of what he could cope with now, Tony had to make a joke. "I know a lot of women who would say otherwise."

His dad chuckled, but then pointed a stern finger. "You gotta stop that stuff."

Tony nodded, having come to that conclusion about halfway through his 'relationship' with Jeanne Benoit. "I have."

"I'm not saying you should follow my example…"

Tony chuckled and shook his head. "Your example is too much like a soap opera."

Anthony eyed him. "You're not married, are you?"

He rolled his eyes. "I probably would have told you."

"Really?"

Tony shrugged. "Okay, maybe not. Valid point."

"Time's a-wastin'," Anthony said, as if imparting one of the secrets of the universe.

Without warning, Ziva popped into Tony's head. She was in his life every day, and he had to wonder if continually stopping himself from touching her, from kissing her, from telling her he loved her was a waste of his life. Maybe it was. "I know."

"You're going to run out of oats to sew soon," Anthony said, drawing a look of utter disgust out of his son and making himself laugh.

"_Clearly_ not," Tony replied. "What are you, 70 now? And you have a four-month-old daughter to a 35-year-old wife. I think my oats are _fine_."

"You going to call Nonna?" Anthony asked, changing the subject again.

Tony sighed, already preparing himself for that conversation. "Yeah. I'll call Rose and Louisa first," he said, referring to his aunts. "Do they know about your kids?"

Anthony pursed his lips together, looking guilty. "Nope."

Tony looked back at him with a look of disappointment he'd learnt from studying at the feet of Gibbs. "Nonna is going to _kick your ass_."

Anthony nodded. "Yep."

"You're terrified, aren't you?" Tony guessed.

"Yep."

"That's why you're getting _me_ to call them."

Anthony shrugged like it was obvious. "They like you a _lot_ more than they like me." At Tony's continued look of disapproval, Anthony gave in. "I know, okay? I'm a son of a bitch."

Tony raised an eyebrow as he thought of the mother in question, and Anthony backtracked quickly.

"Let me think of another way of saying that."

"I would," Tony advised.

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><p><strong>There are other kids? Well, if Daddy D has been married to younger women as many times as we've been led to believe (at least three times but probably more), I can't quite believe that there wouldn't be at least one more DiNozzo kid out there somewhere. <strong>


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: Long time readers of my fics will know that while I always have the best of intentions to respond to the lovely people who take the time out to review my stories, rarely do I manage to keep it up. So please accept this blanket thank you for your kind reviews, story alerting and favoriting. It makes writing a whole lot more fun.**  
><strong>Disclaimer: Disclaimed.<strong>

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><p>Later that evening Tony wandered up and down the hall outside Anthony's room while Mia took her turn at his bedside. After leaving his dad Tony had just wanted to go home and try to process things a little before calling his aunts. But Mia hadn't wanted to take Josie into the room, and had passed her to Tony to look after while she sat with her soon-to-be ex-husband.<p>

Almost immediately Josie had started screaming bloody murder. Tony had spent the last half hour getting a handle on the things that made her calm down and the things that made her scream. Right now she was calm, seemingly asleep as Tony walked the hall around the corner from Anthony's room and rubbed her back. He couldn't believe the sense of victory he felt at getting her to stay quiet.

He reached the top of his walking loop and started back down the hall again. Halfway down he looked up to see two girls come around the corner. Although their faces were drawn with worry, Tony instantly knew who they were. By the shock on their faces, it seemed that they were certainly aware of his identity as well.

Lina, the older girl, was definitely the one in the lead, and Tony understood what his dad had meant when he'd said Tony would know her when he saw her. Although she looked very little like Senior, she looked a hell of a lot like Tony. Her hair was long, a mid-brown with lighter highlights, but she had the same eyes, the same mouth, the same chin. Clare was shorter and blonde without the same genetic markers, but pretty in a way that Tony associated with cheerleaders.

"Tony?" Lina asked as they approached.

Tony smiled through his discomfort. "Fancy meeting you here."

It was all it took for Lina to throw herself at him, hugging him tight around the baby in his arms. Clare held back, looking at him like she wanted to cling to him but was angry with him for something he didn't know he'd done. He looked back down at Lina who was now crying into his shoulder, and he managed to free one hand and gently touch her back.

"I've wanted to meet you for so long," Lina squeaked. "Sorry for grabbing you, I'm just happy."

Tony's head spun as he patted her back. "Wish I could say the same," he said. "I just found out about you three a few hours ago."

Lina kept an arm around him but stepped back to point triumphantly at Clare. "I _told you_ he didn't know!"

The anger disappeared from Clare's face in the blink of an eye, and suddenly she was pushing Lina out of the way to hug him as hard as Abby ever had. For the sake of their brand new relationship Tony tried hard not to wince or cry out in pain. Finally, she pulled back and swiped away her running mascara.

"I'm Clare," she told him. "That's Lina." Lina gave him a finger wave that, for some reason, struck him as ridiculously funny.

"Tony. Nice to meet you."

Clare pointed at the now squirming Josie. "Want me to take her? She gets pretty wriggly."

Tony was happy to hand her over, and tried to shake the feeling back into his arm. "She doesn't look that heavy," he muttered. "Dad's in room 314 around the corner. Mia's with him now, but I'm sure they won't mind if you want to go in."

Lina and Clare shared a layered look Tony couldn't hope to understand before Clare turned her attention to Josie and Lina gave him a half-hearted smile.

"We might just wait till they're done," she said. "Not really in the mood to witness World War III."

Tony raised an eyebrow of understanding. He'd witnessed more than his fair share of fights between Senior and his wives and had learned as fast as the girls had seemed to that they were to be avoided at all costs.

"She's been in there a while, so she probably won't be much longer," he offered awkwardly.

Lina shot him his own smile, managing to make his head spin even more, and dragged him over to sit on the plastic visitor chairs in the hall. Clare sat on the other side of him (blocking his escape, Tony thought), and then Lina looked at him expectantly.

"So. While we wait, tell us your life story."

Tony couldn't help the nervous laugh that fell from his lips. "Uh, really? That could take a while. I'm quite a bit older than you."

"You're, like, a fisherman or something?" Clare tried, and Tony swung around to give her an amused look.

"I'm a what?"

"No, he's in the Navy," Lina told her patiently.

Clare just shrugged. "Somethin' with boats."

Tony gave them the NCIS line. "But I'm not Navy. I'm not a sailor or a marine. I just investigate the crimes involving them."

"Like a cop?" Clare asked.

He nodded. "Yeah, that's how I started. I was a cop in Philly, then Baltimore. Then joined the major case squad at NCIS about ten years ago."

Clare wrinkled her nose. "Ew. Baltimore."

Tony gently challenged her. "It's not anywhere near as bad as they make out."

"So then why do they need so many cops?" she asked.

Tony didn't answer. She had a point, and she was beginning to make him think that she wasn't as much of an airhead as she dressed herself up to be. She grew bored of his silence in about a nanosecond and changed the subject.

"Do you have any kids?"

"No," he said quickly. "And never married."

Lina and Clare snickered. "You sure you're a DiNozzo?" Lina asked.

He gave her a look of acknowledgment. "Dad said you're at NYU?"

Lina's face lit up as she nodded. "Yep, but only for a few more months. Then I get tossed into the real world."

"I'm not going to lie. It'll suck for a while," Tony told her.

She grinned again, and Tony still couldn't get over the resemblance. "Thanks for sugarcoating that."

"What are you studying?"

"Chemistry," she said almost shyly, and Tony suspected she'd been teased about it for years. "I want to get into sustainable chemistry and work on reducing pollution. That kind of stuff."

Tony let his expression show how impressed he was. "Oh, well I don't understand any of that stuff, but I have a friend who's a forensic scientist. If you want to talk to her about career stuff I can introduce you." He didn't recall a time off the job when he'd been so quick to help out a stranger before, but somehow it felt like the right thing to do.

Lina's smile returned. "Seriously? That would be amazing."

"Know any professional dancers?" Clare asked.

He shook his head. He had a strange feeling that he was letting her down, and so grasped at a thin straw. "No, not professional. But my partner trained for about 15 years."

"Your partner?" Lina repeated. "Like, your girlfriend?"

Tony smiled, but shook his head. "No, I mean my partner at NCIS." He looked back to Clare. "You're a cheerleader, right?"

Clare looked at him suspiciously. "Yeah, how'd you know?"

He heard Lina snicker beside him, and wondered if Clare was the only one who didn't think it was obvious. "I've known a lot of cheerleaders," he replied.

Clare got his meaning, and scrunched up her face in disgust. "Ew, gross," she sighed, and Tony had to smile. Making sisters uncomfortable was fun.

He looked up as Mia came around the corner, her shoulders slumped and nose red. She looked beaten down, but whether that was because she'd been fighting with Senior or because she was worried sick about him, Tony couldn't tell. And he wasn't going to ask.

They all stood up as she approached, and Tony thought it was interesting that she smile she shot the girls was genuinely affectionate, albeit it small.

"Look, all my kids are together," she cracked.

Lina approached to give her a quick hug. "We'll take a photo for the family Christmas card."

Mia gave her cheek a quick kiss and then embraced Clare before taking Josie back. "Are you girls okay?" she asked.

"Sure," Lina told her, but Tony doubted her sincerity. "Are _you_ okay?"

Mia shifted Josie to her other hip. "Of course," she lied right back. "I've got to get Josie home, but do you girls want to stay over at the hotel tonight? We're checked in at the Dorchester."

Tony's investigator mind made a few turns while the girls agreed and promised to be by later. Then the girls headed off to Senior's room and Tony was left with Mia as she dug around in her bag for her keys.

"Thanks for coming, Tony," she said. "I'm not going to pretend that I know how difficult this was for you, but I know Tony appreciated it."

Tony nodded but changed the subject. He'd done enough thinking about his relationship with his dad for the day. "So, you and Dad were travelling through D.C. together?"

Mia finally found her keys and nodded. "Yeah. He had a meeting he's supposed to be at tomorrow."

"Excuse the question, but why are you travelling with him if you're in the middle of a divorce?"

Tired eyes met his, and although he didn't want to doubt her, Tony found himself looking for signs of deception. "It's complicated," she sighed. "I guess we're having trouble letting go. I still love him. I'm mad as hell about his affair, but I still love him. I still care about him. And I think he still loves me." She paused to look at Josie and smooth her hand over the baby's head. "He certainly loves Josie. He loves all his kids."

Tony let that go. Deep down he didn't really doubt it, but he was far from ready to admit it. He pulled out his wallet and handed her one of his cards. "Call me if you need, okay?"

Mia slipped the card into her bag and shot him a genuine smile. "It's been nice to meet you, Tony."

"Yeah, you too."

She turned and headed for the elevator, and Tony returned to the plastic seats against the wall. His body felt ten years older than it was when he lowered himself into the seat, and he took a moment to breathe and prepare himself before he pulled out his cell phone. He didn't want to make this call, but it had to be done and no one else would do it. He navigated to his Aunt Rose's number, hit call, and took a deep breath to brace himself. God only knew how this was going to go.

* * *

><p>An hour later Tony was still sitting on the plastic chairs as he stared at a spot on the floor and flipped his phone open and shut, over and over, with his thumb. If Ziva had been there she would have gotten sick of the clicking noise half an hour ago and confiscated the phone. If Gibbs were there, he would have confiscated the phone and tossed it into a cup of coffee. Good thing neither of them were there, then, because that would have left Tony without an object to focus all this anger, nerves, confusion, betrayal, worry and general wigging out on.<p>

The conversation with his Aunt Rose had been a rollercoaster that went from "You never call!" to "We miss you, sweetheart," over to "Are you looking after yourself?" and ended somewhere around "I know he's sick, but don't let him push you around." He hadn't told her about the three nieces she'd never known she had, deciding that was a conversation that could wait until he saw her when she flew in the next day, but he'd mentioned the divorce-in-progress. Rose had only sighed at the news.

He didn't really know why he was still sitting here. There was a not insignificant part of him that wanted to leave now and stay far away from the perfectly nice and sweet girls who shared his DNA. He kept coming back to the thought that he wasn't ready for a relationship with them. Hadn't expected it, hadn't asked for it, didn't know how to handle it. But the more grown up side of him, the part that had been wanting a family since he was eight years old, kept piping up to remind him that they weren't asking him to be their father. The evidence seemed to suggest that they liked the dad they had just fine (which made Tony think that Daddy D must've seriously pulled up his parenting socks for family number two). And despite the fact that they'd clearly been interested in meeting him, they hadn't given him any indication that they wanted an on-going relationship with him at all.

His throat tightened at that thought, and Tony was self-aware enough to realize that he actually didn't want to run for the hills right now. While his NCIS family filled the void his parents had left, there was an undeniable tug within him in the direction of genetic history. And he knew that he was intrigued by these girls—Lina, especially. He honestly wanted to know more about them. He wanted to ask about their childhoods and how they planned to get to where they wanted to be in the future. He wanted to find out if they were as screwed up as him, so that he could work out whether it was fair to blame his dad for all his failings, or whether he had to accept everything as a result of his own choices. He had a feeling he knew the answer to that (a little from column A, a little from column B), and although he knew he'd probably end up beating himself up over it, he still wanted to explore it.

The longer he sat there and weighed it up, the more he was able to beat his flight response into submission. Ultimately, his decision over whether to leave or stick around and attempt a family relationship was made for him when the girls reappeared in the hallway and looked at him with a mix of surprise and relief.

"So, is this where NCIS agents like to hang out on their downtime?" Lina joked, and gestured around at the stark hallway. "Pumpin' hospital corridors?"

Tony smiled, and finally shoved his phone back in his pocket. "How about I take you girls out to dinner?"

He was met with hesitation instead of open arms, and he felt a strong and unexpected stab of pain from the rejection. But when the girls shared a look, he got it. And he was proud. They weren't the kind of girls who would go just anywhere with a guy who was more-or-less a stranger to them. He guessed that was probably their mom's influence.

He pulled out his badge to both reassure them and make them laugh. "I promise I'm a good guy," he told them. "See? I have a badge and everything."

Lina bent towards him and reached out to touch his ID. Tony snatched it back.

"Hey! Look with your eyes, not your hands."

Lina and Clare both snorted and looked at each other with smirks.

"You totally sound like Dad right now," Clare told him.

Tony chose to ignore that. He stood up and gestured down the hall towards the lift. "Come on. I'm buying."

* * *

><p>They ended up at a Japanese place that Ziva had turned Tony on to a few months ago. It was a compromise between the girls who, despite their overriding sweetness, turned out to be well practised in how to fight like sisters. They'd spent five minutes in the parking lot arguing like cats and dogs over seafood versus salad while Tony stood between them and listened with fascination. He hadn't had that kind of relationship with anyone while he was growing up, where you could be blunt enough to cause a head injury and then be best friends again before the argument was done. Sometimes he felt like he and McGee could do that, but there was a difference between their relationship and what he saw between the girls. The difference was that no matter what was said or done, Lina and Clare would always love each other without question or reservation. He wasn't sure that the same could be said about his relationship with McGee. The probie was a smart kid, and surely it was only a matter of time before he realized he didn't have to keep putting up with Tony's crap.<p>

The compromise the girls reached (while Tony kept his mouth shut) was sushi. Lina got her seafood, Clare got to continue with her raw food stage, and Tony just thanked his lucky stars that he didn't have a teenage daughter with strong feelings about cooked food or red meat.

As soon as the waiter arrived to take their drinks orders, Lina raised a finger.

"Heineken, thanks."

Tony opened his mouth and drew a breath, but then closed it again before commenting. It was enough to draw the attention of Lina, Clare _and_ the waiter though, so he sighed and spoke his mind anyway. "Look, I don't want to be Annoying, Responsible Guy, but aren't you driving?"

Lina nodded. "Yeah, but one beer won't…" She trailed off as Tony stared her down, and then turned back to the waiter to amend her order. "Just a Diet Coke's fine."

Tony waited until the waiter left before reaching out to lay his hand on the table halfway between them. "Sorry. I've just…you don't know how many scenes I've gone to where a young person's just had one or two and then driven into a tree."

Lina nodded like his protectiveness wasn't a problem, but Clare commented. "Does that happen a lot in the Navy?"

He shook his head. "No, but I saw it a lot when I was a cop. Especially in the beginning."

"Why only the beginning?"

"That's when I was a beat cop."

"In Baltimore?" Clare double-checked.

"No, I was a beat cop in Peoria," he told her. "A little in Philly. Then I made detective."

Clare drew a timeline in the air with her fingertip to help her follow it all. "So you're a detective now."

"No, he's a fed," Lina told her in a tone of voice that said Clare should have caught on by now.

Clare gave her a short, sharp glare in response, and Tony bet that was the glare of a little sister who had spent her life being corrected by her perfect older sibling. Then she looked at Tony. "So, what's the difference?"

Tony's eyes went to the ceiling as he tried to think of a quick and easy explanation. "Cops have a precinct they work in. One part of a city, or one town or county. Federal agents have jurisdiction across the country, and anywhere else considered American soil."

"So you work across the country?"

He bobbed his head from side to side. "I'm _based_ in DC. But if a case takes us anywhere else, I can follow it. As long as it involves a sailor or marine. Or it's at Quantico."

"What's Quantico?"

"It's where FBI agents train," Lina told her.

That wasn't the whole truth, but Tony cocked his head in general agreement. "Yeah, sort of."

"So why did you become a cop? It's kind of…blue collar for a DiNozzo," Lina said, wincing as she spoke to show him she didn't mean to cause any offence.

Tony chuckled. "Yeah, it is."

"Not that being a chemist is exactly white collar," she added.

"I don't know," he replied with a shrug. "Maybe I have a hero complex." He knew that was the truth. "And probably some of it was to piss Dad off."

The girls shared a look again—they did that a lot, Tony thought—and just like every other time, Lina took the lead. "So, you guys don't get along that well?"

It was a hard question to which there was no single, easy answer. The last thing he wanted to do was unload 40 years of crappy parenting stories on them, particularly when they had a good relationship with Senior and were dealing with him being so sick. So he toned down the harsh truth to something more palatable. "Uh, yeah, we do. Sometimes. Mostly there's a difficulty there. But things are generally okay when he's, um…" He trailed off and mentally kicked himself. Jesus, why did he have to go there?

"Sober," Clare guessed.

He looked at her and found the regret and disappointment he'd felt for so long mirrored in her face. "Yeah," he said honestly. "But he said he's been sober for six years now."

"Yeah," Lina said, flashing a proud smile. "He's done really well."

Their conversation paused as the waiter returned with their drinks and took their dinner orders. Then Tony carefully teased more information about their lives with their dad out of them.

"It must've been difficult growing up with him like that."

The girls shared a look and a shrug, and Lina once again spoke for them both. "Yeah, but he's always been a _functioning_ alcoholic, you know? He hasn't always been dependable, but we never had to deal with him, like, passing out at the kitchen table or selling our toys to buy whiskey."

Tony got the feeling that she was playing down the reality of the situation to save face. He was aware enough to recognize himself in that behaviour, and wondered if that was a Senior thing, or just a rich, proud white kid from New York thing.

"Was he drunk when you were a kid?" Clare cut in.

Tony blinked at her bluntness but quickly recovered. He hadn't talked about that for a long time, and he'd never really spoken about it in plain, unfiltered English. But it sounded like he didn't have to hide the details of his family life with the girls. They'd lived it too. "Not really," he said honestly, and then gave them a little history lesson. "I mean, it was the 70s, and back then you could drink a lot without being called an alcoholic. Even still, he didn't start drinking heavily until after I went to boarding school. So I never lived in a house with it every day. Just for a few weeks a year during summer vacation."

"When did you go to boarding school?" Lina asked.

"I started when I was 10."

She looked almost saddened by that. "How did your mom deal with it?"

Tony felt a pang in his chest, but swallowed it down. He didn't know why he thought they would have known what happened in a family they'd never belonged to. "She died when I was eight."

The news brought twin looks of sadness and apology, and Lina went so far as to reach over and touch his hand. "I'm really sorry, Tony," she said softly. "We didn't know that."

"It's fine," he assured her, and threw in a smile and a wink for good measure. "It was a long time ago. How about your mom? How did she deal with it?"

The girls looked at each other, but this time Clare answered him.

"She divorced him," Clare said with a shrug that said everything. _It is what it is, and Dad had it coming._

Tony smirked. "I think he's had that happen a few times."

Lina braced her elbows on the table and leaned in to him with a curious, almost teasing smile. "And you've never been married? Not even once?"

He chuckled. "No. Not even close."

"Long term relationship?" she pushed.

Tony thought of both Ziva and Jeanne, but the relationships he had with both of them weren't easy to define. "Not exactly."

Lina cocked an eyebrow as if he'd just waved a steak in front of her hungry nose. "What does that mean?" she asked, sounding almost excited before she looked at Clare. "That means something," she told her sister.

Clare nodded and looked at Tony like she had this all worked out. "Hell yeah, it means something."

Tony leant forward as if ready to impart a huge secret. "Okay. The truth is I've been in a relationship for about ten years."

"With who?" Clare pushed.

"My boss," he told her with a smile. "Easily the longest relationship I've ever had. We see each other just about every day, and I can barely go two hours without calling him." He paused for effect. "And telling him there's another dead body that we need to go and look at."

He held Clare's gaze as her expression went from interest over the relationship, to surprise at the suggestion he was gay, and then slow realization that he was joking. She scrunched her nose and twisted her lips at being had, and then looked at Lina.

"Tony does the DiNozzo _deflect-with-a-joke_ thing that us and Dad are so good at," she informed Lina.

The older girl laughed, but didn't comment before Tony's cell phone rang. As he reached into his pocket for it he watched both girls pulls their phones out and double-check that the call wasn't for them. They only looked slightly disappointed when it wasn't.

Tony read Ziva's name off caller ID. He knew she would be checking in to make sure he was doing OK, so it was a call he didn't want to ignore. Voicemail would probably just make her worry.

He looked up at the girls. "Sorry, I just need to take this."

The girls nodded, and didn't even bother trying to hide that they were going to listen to every word. They stared at him in interest as he answered, and instead of being annoyed Tony almost laughed.

"Hey," he said to Ziva.

"How is it going?" Ziva asked, not bothering with pleasantries.

"Okay," he told her, and then breathed through the bubble of emotion that had tears pricking the back of his eyes. "Visiting hours are over, so I've just taken my _other_ two sisters out for dinner."

Ziva paused before guessing, "Abby and McGee?"

He laughed, partly to expel some of his stress. "No. This is Lina and Clare." He glanced up in time to see Clare waving _hello_ at the phone, and he grinned at her.

Ziva sounded about as surprised as he'd been. "You have _three_ sisters?"

"Yep."

"Are they very young?"

"Nooo," Tony sighed. "They're ancient. 21 and 17." He listened to another beat of silence from Ziva as Lina and Clare looked appropriately offended by his comment.

"Are you serious?"

Tony nodded. "Yep. They're, like, fully grown people."

"And how are you dealing with that?" Ziva asked, softening her tone in respect for the intensely personal nature of the conversation she thought they were going to have. But Tony couldn't get into that with the girls sitting right there. He heaved a huge sigh at her instead, and Ziva understood just enough of what he was 'saying' to leave it for now. "Okay. I'm just calling to say I have to go out for an hour, but it sounds like you'll be busy at least that long."

"Yeah," he said, recalling that he'd hinted he'd be making a stop at her apartment sometime tonight. "What time are you going to bed?"

"I don't know. But come by whenever you are ready."

If she were in front of him right then, Tony thought he probably would have hugged her. She was a hell of a good partner to him. "Okay. Thanks, Ziva," he said softly.

"And Tony?"

"Yeah?"

She hesitated, and when she spoke he could hear the worry in her voice. "Make sure you come. Or at least text me if you don't think you will. I do not want to be worrying about you at four am and thinking you have driven your car into the Potomac."

He smiled with almost painful affection. "Oh, Sweetcheeks," he sighed, and then deployed some of that typical DiNozzo deflection-with-a-joke. "I would never do that to my car."

She let him off as he knew she would. "Just checking."

"I'll see you in a couple of hours," he assured her, and then hung up. He looked back at the girls as he slid the phone back into his jacket. "Sorry about that."

The girls looked anything but annoyed. In fact, they looked extremely interested.

"That's okay," Clare said. "Who's Ziva?"

He didn't remember saying her name, but supposed he must have. "My partner."

Another look passed between the sisters.

"The partner who's _not_ your girlfriend?" Lina said teasingly before adding, "Sweetcheeks?"

Tony smiled but ignored the underlying ribbing. "That's the one."

Clare nodded thoughtfully before joining in the teasing. "So, what time _is_ she going to bed?"

"And is she going to be mad if you don't turn up for a few more hours?" Lina added.

Tony shook his head as they laughed at him, and he didn't mind even a little bit.

"Is she pretty?" Clare asked, leaning over the table.

Tony grimaced. "Ugh, I can barely stand to look at her."

Lina held out her hand. "Cell phone, please. You've got to have photos of her."

Tony indulged in the novelty of not having to hide any feelings he might have for his partner, and retrieved his phone again. He pulled up the handful of photos on his memory card and, unsurprisingly, the first one he saw was of Ziva. Well, Ziva's ass. He flicked over that one and landed on one taken at a bar a couple of weeks ago of Ziva and Abby. Abby was giving her standard big smile and thumbs up at the camera, and Ziva was smiling broadly at her. He handed it over to Lina.

"She's on the left."

Clare leaned over the corner of the table and Lina leaned back towards her so that they could look at the photo together.

"Smokin'," Lina declared.

Clare cocked her head to the side. "Is that her real hair?"

Tony's smile from Lina's comment quickly fell into a confused frown over Clare's. "I…believe so."

"Cool," she said. "Who's the happiest goth in the world?"

"Abby. She's my forensic scientist friend I was talking about."

Lina flicked to the next photo, not content with what she'd been given and unashamedly invading his privacy. "Who's the guy with the cheeks?"

Man, he really liked Lina. "Tim," he said with a smile. "He's on our team."

Lina kept scrolling. "There are a lot of shots of Ziva and Abby in here."

Tony shrugged. "They're photogenic."

"Who's the old guy?"

Tony could think of two old guys. "Bow tie and suspenders or silver hair and a sports coat?"

"Sports coat."

"That's Gibbs," he said. "Our boss."

"The longest relationship he ever had," Lina said in her best movie trailer voice. She continued to scroll through the photos, spending a few seconds on each one until she hit on one that made both girls tilt their heads closer to the phone. Then they checked in with each other again and grinned knowingly before turning their smiles on him. Tony looked at them askance and braced for impact.

"What?"

"Tony?" Lina started in the tone of voice reserved for a five year old. "Ziva is definitely your girlfriend. I don't know if you're aware of it or not, but she is. Or at least you _think_ of her that way."

Tony felt a pang around the 'Ziva' area of his heart, but he had to shake his head. No, Ziva was most definitely _not_ his girlfriend, unless he was now conducting relationships in a _very_ different manner than he and society as a whole was used to. He would have flatly denied it, but his curiosity (and ego) had him desperate to hear about what they'd seen that gave them that impression.

"Why?"

Lina turned the phone around and Tony looked at the photo on display. It was a self-portrait of him and Ziva taken a few months ago when they were quite drunk, not that they looked it.

"Guys don't have their photos taken solo with girls unless they're _serious_ about the girl," Lina lectured him. "They don't like leaving evidence that they might be off the market unless they're 100 per cent off the market."

Clare pointed at the phone. "This is an off the market photo," she said with certainty.

Tony made a face at their theory. "What kind of stupid rule is that?"

"The Signs A Guy Is Off the Market Rule," Clare replied.

Tony leant forward and planted his palms on the table. "I've been dating for longer than both of you have been alive," he pointed out. "I have _never_ heard that rule. And I've heard a lot of rules. Believe me."

Lina handed back his phone as Clare replied, "Obviously not all of them, _Sweetcheeks_. Have you got photos of the two of you on Facebook?"

Tony shook his head. "I don't have a Facebook page."

Clare's expression turned entirely WTF. "Then how do you know what's going on with your friends?"

"I ask them," he replied obviously.

"Yeah, but what about when you're not hanging out?"

Tony stared at her blankly. "I don't understand."

Lina glossed over the generation gap. "Clare, he works with his friends all day."

Tony eyed her, curious about how she'd arrived at that correct assumption. "How do you know that?"

She shrugged. "Because all your photos are of the same people. People you said you work with."

Tony gave her a little smile of approval. She was proving herself to be a smart girl with an excellent eye for detail. "You're mostly right," he told her. "There are a couple of other guys I hang out with sometimes, but most of my friends are at work."

"You work a lot," Lina stated.

Tony nodded. "I have the kind of job that you need to spend a lot of time on."

The waiter returned with the meals then, and Tony reached over his udon noodles for his Coke. He held the glass up between them. "We should toast to new families, huh?"

The DiNozzo girls lifted their glasses and clinked, and as they all drank Tony acknowledged the happy little flutter in his stomach that told him he'd done the right thing by hanging around while the girls visited Senior. His dad may have stumbled along the way and let Tony down more times than he could count. But tonight, Tony had finally found something to thank the old guy for.

* * *

><p><strong>Yeah, I know Tony has a Facebook page. Just forget that. And yeah, I also know about the significant relationship with Wendy, but…[eyeroll] Retcon much?<br>**


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: Thank you for your patience. Here's a Ziva bit.  
>Warning for some swears.<br>Disclaimer: Disclaimed.**

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><p>It was midnight before Tony made it to Ziva's door. Dinner had stretched out for hours as he and the girls tried to fill each other in on decades of history and worked on building some of their own. They'd made him laugh a dozen times and left him amazed when they found opinions and hobbies in common. He'd been less pleased when they pointed out that he'd done or said something that reminded them of Senior, but the fact that they were saying it with affection made it a lot easier to hear. When they finally called it a night, he'd been struck with the same feeling of protectiveness he got whenever Abby insisted on heading home in the dead of night by herself. It was dark, the girls were practically babies, and they didn't know the city. Thoughts of them stumbling into one of the nastier areas of the District and getting carjacked and assaulted brought on an intense feeling of panic, so he tailed them all the way back to the Dorchester and then waited on the street until Lina called to assure him they were safely in their room.<p>

He knew Ziva would understand that time had gotten away from him, but he still hesitated before knocking on her door. Half of him wanted to go in there and gush like a 13-year-old girl over every little detail he could remember about his sisters. The other half of him wanted to go back to his car and head home to avoid having to give her even a summary of what was going on with his dad. Tears had been gathering within him for hours and so far he'd been able to keep them in check. But he wasn't confident that he'd be able to hold onto them when Ziva adopted her Genuinely Very Worried and Sympathetic Voice and asked him if he was okay. Because honestly? He wasn't, and he didn't want to break in front of her. He felt better prepared to deal with his scary father issues in the safety and solitude of his own home.

Still, there was a little voice in him that pointed out that if anyone could understand difficult paternal issues, Ziva was probably his girl. And he wanted to get some ranting and raving off his chest at someone who would be 100 per cent on his side. If he focused on anger, he'd probably be able to stay dry-eyed.

He knocked softly on her door, loud enough for Ziva to hear but not enough to bug her long-suffering neighbors. It took just seconds for her to open the door, and the mug in her hand told him why. She'd only been a few steps away in the kitchen.

"Sorry I'm late," he said with a shrug and a smile.

Ziva stepped aside for him and returned the shrug. "I had not given up on you yet."

He was surprised when she handed the mug to him, and he took a cautious sniff of the rich amber liquid. "Doesn't smell like whisky," he cracked.

"Chinese black tea," she told him as she locked the door. "It is a good evening tea."

"Tea," he said dismissively, but took a sip to please her. He raised his eyebrows with surprise. "Oh, that's actually not bad."

Ziva nodded knowingly and stepped into the kitchen for a moment to retrieve a mug of her own. Then she led him to the living room and took her usual spot on the right end of the couch. Tony took his usual spot in the middle and toed off his shoes before putting his feet up on the coffee table.

"So. Three sisters," she prompted.

Tony balanced the mug in the palm of one hand and rubbed his face with the other. "Yeah. Lina, Clare and Josie. Apparently they've known about me for a long time. But, um," he paused to clear his throat, "Dad said he hasn't told Nonna or my aunts about them."

Ziva shifted sideways on the couch to face him, and it took the innocent brush of her bare knee against his thigh for Tony to realize she was just in the tiny Lycra shorts she sometimes ran in during the summer. For the life of him, he couldn't work out why the sight seemed so intimate tonight.

"Why do you think he kept them secret?" Ziva asked.

He lifted his eyes from her thighs as a chuckle broke free from his throat. "Uh, because he's an asshole?" he said obviously.

Ziva braced her elbow against the back of the couch and rested her head in her hand. She raised her eyebrows at him, encouraging him to think a little deeper about it, and Tony sighed at the woman's ability to make silence so damn effective.

He slumped down further on the couch and rested his head beside her elbow. "I've had a sister for 21 years," he told her, still staggered by the news. "And she's amazing. She's beautiful and smart and funny. I clicked with her so fast, Ziva. I wish I'd known her. I wish I'd shared her life and bought her first beer and beat up the jerks who made her cry in junior high, you know? I just wish I'd been there. For Clare, too. She's so sweet." He shook his head. "They're my sisters. I can't believe it."

"It sounds like it was a happy meeting," Ziva said, smiling softly.

He smiled and nodded firmly. "Yeah, it was. And, you know, Josie's pretty cool, too," he threw at her with a smirk. "Doesn't talk much. Screams a lot, but somehow I was able to make that stop."

"You held her for a while?" Ziva asked.

"Yeah," he replied, laughing at himself. "When Mia was in with Dad. She was really heavy. But she smelled really good. Like talcum powder and innocence."

Ziva smirked. "Innocence."

He grinned broadly at her. "Yeah. And she had these tiny little hands with these _tiny_ fingernails and these huge blue eyes and…" He trailed off when Ziva's eyes started widening in direct relation to the growing excitement in his voice. He cleared his throat. "Uh, she was just kind of cute."

"Right."

"I don't remember the last time I saw a baby up close," he explained, trying to play it down.

"They have their redeeming qualities," she offered.

He shrugged. "Yeah, I guess," he said, and then took a big sip of tea. He felt Ziva touch the back of his head—very briefly, very softly—and he took the gesture to mean that she'd take his baby enthusiasm to the grave.

"Do you think you will keep in contact with them now?" she asked.

Tony nodded firmly. "Definitely."

"Well, it is a shame that you missed out on so much with them. But think of everything you will get to do with them in the future."

He smiled up at her. "Yeah. Clare wants to meet you. She wants to be a dancer."

Ziva gave him a funny look. "I am not a dancer."

"Yeah, but you were," he countered, feeling the urge to push two sides of his family together. "You trained forever."

Her eyes softened again. "I would like to meet them."

He gave her a smile filled with hours-old pride. "Lina's about to graduate from NYU with a degree in chemistry. She wants to find ways to reduce pollution and save the world."

Ziva nodded and set her mug down on the coffee table. "How is your father?"

Tony's smile dropped. "I was trying to avoid talking about him, in case you hadn't noticed."

"I had."

Tony set his mug down beside hers and heaved an epic sigh. "He's an old man who's made a lot of mistakes, facing the end of his life."

He waited for Ziva to comment on that, perhaps with a harsh word or two about karma that Tony couldn't bring himself to say aloud. But her silence again encouraged more words to spill from his mouth, and suddenly he found himself telling her what he'd been wanting to keep private.

"He asked me to forgive him," he said, and the admission made his throat close sharply. He blinked and swallowed, succeeding in holding back his tears, but he didn't need a mirror to know that he probably looked like he was struggling. He rubbed a hand over his face. "Jesus, this is embarrassing," he muttered.

Ziva's warm hand closed around his wrist. "It is just me," she said softly.

He made a joke because the unfamiliar seriousness between them demanded it. "You can't use this against me later."

She pursed her lips and shook her head. "I would never," she returned easily.

Tony sighed and focused on the safety of his teacup. "He admitted everything I've always wanted to throw in his face," he said roughly. "Like he'd known it all along. But I feel like he's only bringing it up now because he almost died and he thinks he can get away with it. He begs for forgiveness, and if I don't give it I'm the asshole because he's dying. But I can't just…" He stopped when his voice cracked, and he clenched his jaw angrily. He would _not cry._

Ziva came to his rescue, giving him a few seconds to wrestle back the control he needed. "You don't have to, Tony. Forgive when you are ready. On your own timeline."

He let out a bitter snort. "Aren't you supposed to forgive because people need it? Because it helps all of us move on and forget?"

She weighed that up. "Sometimes. But who amongst us can find that nobility within us every day?"

She had a point, he realized, and he felt more justified in his inability to let go of years of feelings of hurt and abandonment. He let his anger take the reigns for a moment and started quoting his dad at her in a harsh tone. "I pushed you, and you took it, and you never gave me a reason to stop. You didn't give me a reason to be a father, because you handled everything without me. You understood why I did it, and you accepted it." He took a shallow breath as his hand holding the teacup started to shake, and switched back to first-person commentary. "You know what he said? That I was always the kid who would take the hits so my friends wouldn't have to."

Ziva's eyes widened and she cocked her head barely to the side in acknowledgement. "I would say that is one of your defining traits," she said gently.

Tony looked away from her quickly, attempting to build some emotional space. But it was no use. The bare honesty of the conversation now had him in its grip and he couldn't fight the pull. He knew he made himself a target to provide cover to others. Hell, sometimes he even looked for situations where he could swoop in and draw the fire. He didn't know where the compulsion came from—clearly it wasn't something he'd learned from his father—but he had a hero complex and he knew how to use it. Sometimes he wondered if that was what had made him such a good cop. These days he wondered if it ended up making him a bad Senior Field Agent. He knew he protected McGee from the ire of Gibbs probably too much, but he couldn't stand the wounded look on the kid's face when Gibbs' unchecked anger and frustration hit him square in the chest. And although rationally he knew that Ziva was probably even better built than him to bear the brunt of Hurricane Gibbs, the sometimes-buried chivalrous side of him couldn't stand to see a woman torn down and berated. So he jumped in and asked a stupid question or made a dumb joke that he knew would get his colleagues off the hook. Just like when he would put his hand up and admit to things he hadn't done as a kid to spare his friends and cousins. But what did it get him? A momentary rush of pride before being hit with the disappointment and frustration in Gibbs' eyes, or a dressing down and punishment from him father or teachers or coaches.

His throat burned as he swallowed down more tears, and the realization that he was sick and tired of coming to everyone's rescue hit him like a punch to the chest. "I can't always do it!" he suddenly blurted out. "Both of 'em do the same damn thing. They push and push and assume I'll keep taking it, but I can't!" And just like that, with the words out an in the open, he instantly regretted them for what they would mean for his friends. "But I can't leave you guys exposed, either. The girls and you and McGee. I can't let them take everything out on you guys—"

Somehow Ziva kept up with the scattered, not sully explained thoughts and cut in on him. "Tony, you don't have to shoulder it all. McGee and I, we know you do it and we love you for it. But you _don't_ have to take it all. And Gibbs does not have to push so much. He knows that and he has to stop it."

Tony bit his bottom lip hard. Great, so both his dad and Gibbs needed to stop taking advantage of him, and Tony had to stop offering his head for their chopping blocks. Tony was sure that now he was aware of that, things would be totally fine from here on out. _Not_.

He sighed heavily and dropped his head back against the couch. "He thinks he had it good with me, you know?"

Again, Ziva followed the zigzag of his thoughts. "Your dad?"

Tony nodded. "Had it good," he repeated dully. "Because I looked after him when Mom died and let him get away with being an asshole every day." He glanced at her. "That was good for him. And he repaid me for being such a great kid by not telling me that I had two sisters." He wagged a finger in the air. "But he'd like me to know how great he thinks I am. Because I let him get away with it."

Ziva suddenly leaned closer and gripped his thigh as she became indignant on his behalf. "You didn't _let_ him do anything, Tony," she said firmly. "He was the adult and he chose to behave how he did, and that is not your fault. He chose a coward's way to deal with things, and the fact that you are sitting here today, the amazing man that you are—" She paused as Tony started shaking his head, but his apparent rejection of the facts seemed to work her up even more. "Listen to me," she said, giving his thigh a light smack. "It means that he didn't succeed in breaking you. It means that you are stronger than him, Tony. You are smarter than him. You have more compassion, more heart, more love. And you have more respect for yourself than he will ever have for himself."

He stared at her a moment, wondering if that was really what she thought of him, before shaking his head uncomfortably. "So why can't I forgive him?"

Her eyes traveled his face before she gave him a confident nod. "In time, you probably will."

Tony hoped she was right. As must as he still stung from Senior's half-assed parenting efforts, he didn't want to spend his whole life feeling like this whenever he thought about him. And that was likely to happen more now that the girls were in his life.

He felt another flash of anger at being kept in the dark about them for so long. What the hell had been going through his father's head? Why was he too scared to just be honest with him? Why had he continued to neglect their relationship past the point where he realized the damage he'd caused? Senior had been an alcoholic for most of Tony's life, and he knew that went some way towards explaining it. But he'd been sober for six years now and still he hadn't taken any steps towards making amends. If today's evidence was anything to go by, he'd been too busy finding increasingly younger women to love and marry and then destroy.

Well, at least they had one thing in common, Tony thought sourly. Hell, it was something he had in common with Gibbs, too. Now that he thought about it, it seemed that all three of them craved love, only to push it away when it came. How long until Tony ended up in a cycle of increasingly bad marriages? Or stuck alone in a basement with nothing but booze, a boat and thoughts of what he'd lost to keep him company? Except in Tony's case it wouldn't be what he'd lost that would damage him beyond repair. It would be what he'd never taken a chance on.

"Tony?" Ziva questioned softly.

He snapped out of his thoughts and looked at his partner, and this time when the tears burned the back of his eyes, he couldn't do anything about it. "I don't want to be like him," he said brokenly.

Ziva shuffled even closer to him and lifted her hand to touch his cheek. "You won't be," she told him. "You're not."

"I don't want to be like Gibbs."

"You're not him either," Ziva said, shaking her head. "You are your own man, Tony."

"I want to be better than them," he told her, determination creeping into his voice. "I want to be worthy of…" He barely caught himself before the soul-baring end to his sentence jumped out of his mouth, but he was sure Ziva heard the _'you'_ anyway. Her eyes barely widened before softening in the way he usually had to be bleeding from the head to see and her breath hitched. He looked down, away from the temptation he couldn't possibly deal with tonight, and revised his statement. "I just want to be better."

He felt Ziva's thumb stroke his cheekbone before she replied in a thick voice that made his heart hurt. "You are," she said plainly, and although he was still determinedly not looking at her, Tony couldn't help but think that she was responding to the statement he _hadn't_ made.

"Maybe," he said softly.

Ziva's hand left his cheek and slid to the back of his neck. "Come here," she said, and easily pulled him into a warm hug. Tony dropped his forehead to her shoulder and tightened his arms around her, craving the contact and support she was giving, but he knew he'd indulged a little too much when his tears finally came and spilled onto the bare skin of her shoulder. He sniffed them back quickly and lifted his head so his cheek was against her hair.

"God, I'm 40 years old and I'm crying because my dad was mean to me," he grumbled, chastising himself.

Ziva rubbed his back. "Would you like me to sneak into his hospital room and kick his ass?"

Tony chuckled. "Thank you, but no. He'd probably try to make you my next stepmother."

"I am not that easy," she replied, and Tony had to chuckle again. That was an understatement. She kissed his cheek and pulled back, and then gave him an affectionate smile.

Tony wiped his almost dry cheeks of all remnants of tears and let his head drop back against the couch again. "So, if everything wasn't complicated enough already, my aunts are coming tomorrow."

Ziva rested her head on the couch beside his. "When was the last time you saw them?"

"About three years ago."

Her eyes went to the ceiling as she tried to retrieve information from her memory. "You have a good relationship with them, yes?"

"Yeah," he nodded. "But they're less enamored of Dad."

"Is your grandmother coming?"

He shook his head as he felt a nervous tug in his stomach. "No. I haven't told her yet. I need to talk to Rose first about how to do it."

Ziva held his gaze. "How do you think your aunts will take the news?"

Tony sighed and thought for a moment. "I don't think they're going to go easy on him. They haven't been too pleased with him for the last 30 years." He paused as years and years of family history started falling into place and making sense. "I think they gave him some leeway after Mom died, but I know they've been praying to God to save his wayward soul over the years. I'm pretty sure they convinced themselves that someone put _malocchio_ on him."

Ziva pursed her lips as she tried to access her internal Italian dictionary. "The evil eye?"

Tony nodded and a smirk formed on his lips. "Back when I was a kid they always thought that someone was envious of him and cursed him. Nonna especially thought it was the reason that so many bad things started happening to him. I remember walking in on her and my aunts chanting around a bowl of water before being shooed from the room. It's secret women's business, apparently." He shrugged. "Can't get past traditions, huh?"

Ziva's eyes closed briefly as she nodded knowingly. "I have the same sorts of things in my family."

He smiled at the shared craziness across cultures. "I think they'll really like the girls, though," he went on. "I mean, they're blood relatives so of course they'll be welcomed with open arms. I don't doubt it. But I think the Mafioso will really _like_ them, too. As people, I mean."

Ziva frowned. "Mafioso?"

His smile grew bigger. "It's what me and my cousins used to call my aunts and Nonna."

"Only the women? Not the men?"

Tony shook his head. "The men in my family aren't close to as scary as the women," he told her. "I mean, I love them. And they adore me. But I would not mess with them."

Ziva nodded as if making a mental note. "I will try to remember that."

Tony's eyebrow rose with thoughts about how a meeting between strong and fearsome Ziva and his strong and fearsome aunts would go. That one had the potential to go rather pear-shaped, but he thought it would be just as likely that one of his aunts would want to adopt her. Even if she didn't have Italian blood. He took a sip of tepid tea as he tried to come up with a game plan, but Ziva interrupted his thoughts by taking the cup off him.

"I will warm it up for you," she said, and got off the couch.

Tony shook his head. "No, don't worry about it. I'm kind of exhausted by these emotion things I've been experiencing today."

She sent him a smile of acknowledgement. "Do you want to stay?"

The question made his heart thump, and that alone should have been warning enough to send him out the door and down to his car. He wasn't too tired to drive home yet. But honestly, he really felt the need for company. "Yeah. Thanks."

Ziva nodded, and as she carried their cups to the kitchen Tony wondered where he would stay. He'd shared the bed a dozen times after movie nights. But he'd also taken the couch at least that many times. He toed off his shoes and left them under her coffee table to give her a sign that he'd be fine with the couch, but when Ziva returned to the living room she went straight to the overhead light switch.

"Can you navigate if I turn this off?" she asked.

He took that to mean she was fine with him sharing the bed tonight. He stood up and nodded. "Yeah."

Ziva flipped off the light and Tony took a step towards her bedroom. Straight away his shin hit the coffee table and he breathed out an expletive. The light came back on and he looked over at Ziva's expression of amusement. She gestured towards the hallway.

"Go," she told him. "I will follow."

He gave her a sheepish look as he passed her and headed down the hall to her bedroom. As he took off his jacket, shirt and suit pants Ziva climbed into bed. He climbed in beside her in boxers and his undershirt and settled in beside her, leaving a clear foot of space between them. He looked across the pillows at her and felt his eyes fill with affection for his partner who had supported him so much tonight.

"Thank you, Ziva," he said softly.

She smiled and reached over to pat his cheek gently. "You are welcome, Tony. It is what I am here for."

_And thank God for that, _he thought. He needed her in his corner right now.

He heard Ziva's breathing deepen and even out in under five minutes, but despite his exhaustion, sleep didn't come to him. His head was too full of stinging childhood memories, nausea-inducing 'what ifs' about the future, and confusion about the present. His father's spectacularly unexpected self-awareness and apologies had been overwhelmingly infuriating instead of validating. And yet, Tony knew they had been genuine. That was the kicker. The old bastard had meant every word, and there was a little part inside him that truly wanted to just forget about everything if it meant he could have his dad back. Because apparently one of Tony's other defining traits was that he'd never been any good at learning when to let go.

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><p><strong>Confession time: I'm currently on holidays, so updates for this one and my other story <strong>_**Quake**_** will come a lot slower for the next two weeks. I'd say sorry, but I'm enjoying this cocktail on my beachside balcony too much to feel much guilt.**


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: Ladies and gentlemen, please meet Tony's aunts.  
>Disclaimer: Disclaimed.<strong>

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><p>Late the next morning Tony leaned against the wall of the domestic arrivals hall, waiting for his aunts to get off their flight from New York. When he'd woken up at 0500 to Ziva coming back from her run he'd been feeling better about the whole situation. Yeah, his dad was still sick, he'd still been a crappy parent and he still hadn't told Tony about his three sisters. But some of the shock from the night before had worn off and he didn't feel quite as out of control of his emotions. Only time would tell how long that would last.<p>

He wasn't exactly in a _good_ mood, but the sight of his aunts charging through the terminal in his direction put a smile on his face. Rose and Louisa were younger than Tony's father by two and four years respectively, but they looked at least a decade younger. Tony thought part of that had to do with attitude, but mostly it had to be good genes balancing out all the wine and carbs they indulged in daily. Each of them was about as wide as Tony's little finger and barely reached his shoulder in their ubiquitous black four-inch pumps. He always forgot how short they were; for his whole life they'd been so loud and opinionated that they always seemed 10 feet tall.

He pushed off the wall and headed towards them, and he was still ten feet away when he picked up their conversation.

"You're just cranky because you haven't had anything but airline coffee this morning," Rose was telling Louisa. "I told you to have a cup before the car came to get us."

"I am not cranky!" Louisa shot back. "But if I was, it would be because you woke me up at 4.30 this morning with whale music."

"Yoga music," Rose corrected on a sigh. "It is supposed to give you a calm and peaceful start to the morning."

"Really? Because it made me want to stab you."

Tony stepped in front of them before Louisa could make good on her threat. "Ladies," he said with a charming smile. "Please don't spill blood before lunchtime."

His aunts' fight was forgotten instantly as they both squealed and lunged for him at the same time. Tony staggered under the enthusiasm, if not the weight, and idly wondered who would win a hug-off between them and Abby. He glanced around as they continued to squeal and shot polite smiles at the handful of other passengers who were staring at the spectacle. This lack of shame was par for the course for most of his family, he reminded himself, and he'd have to get used to it for the next few days.

When Rose and Louisa finally gave him space to breathe, they immediately started using up all the oxygen around him again by talking over the top of each other.

"It's so good to see you!"

"You look so handsome!"

"Are you doing okay?"

"We haven't seen you in so long!"

"You look a little tired, _tesoro_."

"Are you looking after yourself?"

"Are you sleeping enough?"

"Are you eating enough?"

"Who's looking after you?"

"When you're so busy looking after everyone else."

There was a beat of silence, and Tony took the cue to answer every question all at once. "It's good to see you too. I'm fine."

Rose and Louisa shared a look that reminded him of the glanced between Lina and Clare. Was that a sister thing he hadn't noticed before?"

Rose pursed her lips and looked like she didn't believe him. "I see. Have you spoken to your father?"

Tony shook his head and took their suitcases from them. "Not since yesterday, but he knows you're coming to see him today."

Louisa repositioned her handbag on her shoulder as they all started walking down the concourse. "Did you let him push you around?" she asked bluntly.

Tony held on to his sigh. "No, he was good. We're all good. And he's in good spirits. A little cranky because they won't let him smoke, bot otherwise he's feeling okay."

"Two heart attacks," Rose muttered before raising her voice. "What kind of idiot needs to have two heart attacks before he does something about it?"

Tony didn't know, and he didn't know why he felt the need to present evidence on Senior's behalf. "Well, in his defence I think they happened pretty close together."

"He's 73 years old," Louisa shot in. "You don't need to be his defence council."

Tony didn't have a chance to respond before Rose provided her opinion. "It's a man thing," she said confidently. "They get a tiny little sniffle and they act like they've got the plague. But when faced with something that could actually kill them, suddenly they're freaking Superman." She paused to lay a gentle hand on Tony's arm and grace him with a kind smile. "No offence, _tesoro_, but your gender is stupid."

"I've heard that a few times."

"Your Uncle Joe was the same when he had all those problems with his prostate," Louisa said as Rose muttered agreeably. "He kept saying he was fine, all because he didn't want a man with a glove checking out—"

"Okay, I really don't need you to finish that story," Tony cut in.

"Did you talk to him about his prognosis?" Rose wanted to know. "What are they going to do for him?"

"Uh, I don't really know," Tony admitted. "We only talked briefly about that. We mostly just caught up a little."

"And you're sure he didn't upset you?" Rose checked.

Tony flashed her a distracting smile, hoping that she'd drop it. "Rose, I'm fine. So fine that people are going to write songs about me."

Rose stuck a finger in his face. "I'm on to you, Mr Fine."

This time, Tony let go of his sigh and added an eye roll for good measure. "You've always loved drama.

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><p>While Rose and Louisa headed to the hospital cafeteria in an optimistic search for good coffee, Tony headed up to his father's room to warm him that the Mafioso was about to strike. Anthony looked much older, more tired and crankier than he had the day before, and Tony got a sick feeling in his stomach about the mood he knew he was about to encounter. If yesterday's Anthony was the man Tony could get along with, today's Anthony was the man that Tony wanted to walk away from and leave to his own self-destructive devices. It was a pity that walking away didn't seem like an option today.<p>

"Hey, Dad," he said as he entered the room. He threw him a smile in an effort to turn Anthony's mood around before it all went to hell.

Anthony turned the glare he'd been aiming at the TV on his son. For a few seconds he didn't say anything as he visibly struggled with whatever was on the top of his tongue. Then he closed his eyes, took a deep breath and let the glare fall away from his face.

"Hey, kid," he said, almost pleasantly. "Have a seat."

Tony eyed the visitor's chair warily, as if it might've been packed with an IED, before sitting down. Where was the yelling and childish outburst? What was this thinking before speaking business? Who was this strange old man?

"How are you feeling?" Tony asked.

Anthony reached for the remote and muted the sound. "I've been better," he grumbled. "I got a visit from the cardiologist this morning. They've been monitoring my heartbeat overnight and they're not going to release me today."

Tony was surprised that he thought there was a chance the hospital would, but didn't mention it. "What's going on? Have you got arrhythmia?"

Anthony eyed him, clearly wondering what the hell his son the cop knew about cardiology. "Yeah. He reckons there's a blockage that's messing with blood flow or some damn thing."

Tony nodded. "Okay. So what are they thinking? Are they just going to put in a stent and try to open the vein up a little?"

"Yeah," Anthony said again as the glare began to return. "Since when are you an expert?" he demanded.

Tony automatically cast his eyes down at the rebuke. "I'm not, Dad."

Anthony heaved a sigh. "Yes, they want to put a…What did you call it?"

"Stent."

"Stent," Anthony repeated, trying the word out. "They want to put a stent in. But I'm not convinced."

Tony pushed his timid 10-year-old self aside and gave his dad a hard look. "Not convinced about what?"

"The procedure," Anthony spelt out. He shifted in his bed and leaned towards Tony as he started getting agitated. "You know they go in through your groin for this thing? And then afterwards, they tell me I have to lie still on my back for a few hours. Who the hell can lie still for a few hours?" He shook his head, and stared at Tony as if making his son see sense would change the whole procedure. "My hip hurts, kid. And my knee. And I just have to put up with the pain of that? How's anyone supposed to do that?" He cut his hand through the air dismissively and lay back on his pillows. "I don't want to have it. You know they're only suggesting it so that it looks like they're doing something."

Tony stared at his father. He'd thought he'd just been kidding around with the back and the knee thing, but it was clear to him now that Anthony meant every word. The two sides of him that were warring over how much to care about his father's failing health went another round in his head, but ultimately he knew the procedure had to be done. Whether he was happy to point it out because he really wanted Anthony to get better, or because he just didn't care enough for the man anymore to worry about whether he'd get through it okay, Tony wasn't sure. And right now he didn't want to deal with the guilt of the latter. He just had to convince him to go through with it. Fortunately, Tony had some experience with uncooperative patients, and he knew that the only thing that would work here was tough love.

"Okay, well you've got two choices here, Dad," he said firmly. "You can get scared and convince yourself that a few hours of discomfort it too much to deal with, not have the procedure and then go home and have another heart attack. Or, you can harden up and deal with it, and live long enough to see your baby daughter grow up. What's it going to be?"

Anthony's glare turned into the kind of stormy look that used to make Tony prepare himself for a tirade. "Don't you dare talk to me like—"

"What's it going to be?" Tony cut in, refusing to indulge his behavior for perhaps the first time in his life.

Anthony blinked at him in surprise, and then changed tack towards something more manipulative. "Have you been in my situation?" he challenged. "Do you have any idea how this feels?"

Tony didn't even have to think about it. "I know what it feels like to have to inform kids that their dad has died," he shot back. "I know how it feels to be confined to bed for days on end. I know how it feels to think that you're dying, and I sure as hell know what pain so strong you _want_ to die feels like." He paused to let that sink in, and attempted to get his suddenly erratic breathing under control. "I know you're scared, Dad. But if you don't do this, you're probably going to die. If that's not enough of a reason for you to have this procedure, then think of how your daughters will feel growing up without you. They love you, and they don't want to lose you. Especially not when you can be saved."

The two men stared at each other in silence for long seconds, and Tony began to wonder if playing the "do it for your kids" card was actually going to work. Certainly it hadn't worked when his aunts played it 30 years ago and Tony was the kid in question, but back then it hadn't been a choice between life and death. It'd just been a choice between making the effort and getting drunk.

Eventually Anthony's expression turned contrite, and he looked down at his hands. "Okay," he said softly, the fight in him completely gone. "I'll do it."

Tony didn't let his surprise at having won that round of manipulation show. Instead, he just nodded like Anthony had no choice but to agree and stood up. "Okay, then. Good. Rose and Louisa are on their way up. And by the way, I haven't told them about the girls yet."

He headed to the door with the intention of going looking for them, but his father called him back.

"Tony?" he said in a caring voice Tony didn't think he'd heard in decades. "How many times have you been shot?"

Tony turned back and frowned deeply at him as he tried to find the relevance for the question. "Why?"

Anthony swallowed as his eyes turned sad. "Just wondering how many times I might've lost you and not known."

Tony figured he was referring to his earlier comment about knowing how it felt to think you were dying. But he wasn't really in the mood to garner the man's sympathies right now. Or ever, in fact. That's not what your dad was for. That's what _Ziva_ was for (even if she kind of sucked at it). "I don't know, Dad. It doesn't matter. I'm here. I'm fine."

But Anthony wouldn't drop it. "When was the last time?"

"Huh?"

"When was the last time you were shot?"

Tony stared at him, still hoping to drop the conversation. "Does it matter?"

Anthony's expression turned even sadder. "Yes. To me, it does."

Tony bit back an exasperated sigh and thought the question over. "I guess a few months ago."

"Where?"

This was getting ridiculous. "Geez, I don't know. We were in Alexandria somewhere."

Anthony shook his head. "No, where on your body?"

"Oh," Tony grunted. That made more sense. "Just my arm, and I only got winged. It bled like a mo'fo and stung like a bitch, but it didn't do me any damage."

Anthony swore under his breath and turned his gaze to the TV. Tony wasn't sure (and probably didn't want to believe it), but there was a suspicious glint in his dad's eye that made Tony's stomach cramp. He found himself digging deep to offer the guy some mercy.

"Really, Dad, I'm okay," he said, removing the irritation from his voice. "I'm currently in perfect health."

Anthony looked over at him again. "I just can't understand…" he started, and then swallowed hard and found his composure. "I don't understand what you do. Or why you do it for people you've never met and who don't know your name."

The raw honesty was like a punch to Tony's guts, and for just a moment he thought he might cry. The comment made it sound like Anthony had actually given serious thought to the idea, and Tony wondered for the first time if his opposition to Tony becoming a cop had less to do with how blue collar the job was, and more to do with fear that his son would be killed. The problem with that, though, was that if it suggested that the man who had hurt Tony so much over the years actually cared about him. He'd been getting by dealing with that hurt all this time by writing his dad off as a self-absorbed asshole. But if that ended up being not entirely true, then what the hell was Tony going to place the blame on for the whole shitty situation?

He swallowed back the mini-breakdown and went to his old fallback of deflecting scary emotions with humor. "I do it because somebody has to," he started, before adding, "And because I get to carry a gun, and because women love cops."

Some of the sadness in Anthony's eyes fell away as he smirked. He heard Tony's cue and changed the subject. "Did you get to see the girls yesterday?"

Tony nodded. "Yeah. We had dinner."

They held gazes again as Tony waited for the hint of another apology. But it was pride, not guilt, that filled Anthony's eyes. Tony stung a little from that, wondering if his father had ever had that look on his face when he talked about his son to other people. But on the other hand he knew exactly why the pride was there.

"Good job on those two," Tony offered.

Anthony broke into a wide, natural smile. "They're beautiful, huh?"

Tony nodded. "Yeah. I liked them a lot."

Anthony regarded him. "They could learn a lot from you, kid."

He wasn't sure, but Tony thought that might have been a compliment. He didn't explore it any further, though. He glanced out the window in the door to see his aunts barrelling up the hallway, and he opened the door.

"Here's Rose and Louisa," he said to his dad, and then ducked out of the room to grab the women before they went too far. "Hey, he's in here."

Louisa had a paper coffee cup in her hand and a grimace on her lips. "This tastes like dirt," she told him.

Tony took it off her. "How about you go talk to him and I'll go track down a decent cup of coffee for you?"

Louisa paused to kiss his cheek. "You might have to go all the way back to New York," she warned him.

He took the D.C. bashing with good humor. "I'll see what I can find in 20 minutes."

"Thank you, _tesoro_."

He stepped aside and let Rose and Louisa into the room, and then left them to it. The stereo yelling started almost immediately, and halfway to the elevator he could still hear the dressing down they were giving their older brother about not looking after himself. Tony felt an unexpected sense of relief at that. He may have been able to talk Senior into having a procedure that would save his life for the sake of his kids, but that was only half of the problem that needed addressing. Getting sober was an enormous step towards a longer life, but Senior still had to give up the cigarettes, the rich food, and the web of bad karma he was spinning by consistently cheating on his wives. It was good that someone was laying down the law for him, and Tony was glad it wasn't him. Because even if it turned out that Senior honestly cared about him and wanted to fix their relationship, Tony still wasn't sure he could muster the compassion to do anything more for the man than he already had.


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: I'm [posting this now because a friend was asking about it this weekend. My head hasn't been in a _Famiglia_ place, but I thought I'd check out where I was up to. Then I spent two hours searching various hard drives and thumb drives for this chapter and panicking that I'd deleted it by mistake when I did a document purge a couple of weeks ago and…yikes. I got scared. So now that I've found it again I'm putting it out into the interwebs immediately. I have no idea when the next chapter will come, but rest assured I'm not giving up on this. I'm just taking a long break.  
>Disclaimer: Disclaimed.<strong>

After the yelling died down and they'd had a few minutes to catch up with their older brother, Tony took his aunts back to his apartment. They'd be staying at The Dorchester for the length of their stay, but Tony wanted a controlled, private environment in which to break the news about Lina, Clare and Josie. He thought they were probably going to take the news okay, but that didn't mean they'd keep their voices to a normal human level, and it didn't rule out fits of tears and wailing. He'd seen them resort to that kind of drama over little more than Black Friday sales, so God only knew what kind of performance they'd put on after hearing they had three more nieces.

He hung their coats by the door and then led them into the kitchen. "What do you want to drink? Wine or gin and tonic?" Best to get them just a little liquored up to make the news easier to swallow.

"Wine," they both said.

"_Tesoro_, isn't this the same place you were in after you left Baltimore?"

Tony looked around the kitchen and tried to remember Rose ever being in this apartment before. He couldn't. "Yeah."

"I thought it was supposed to be a temporary place," she said.

He grabbed some glasses out of the cupboard and a bottle of red from the pantry. "Well, it is. I'm not going to stay here until I die."

He glanced up to see Rose and Louisa both looking at him like they didn't believe him, and he felt a little defensive. Okay, so his place wasn't anything on the huge estates they lived on or the house he grew up in, but he liked it there.

"It's fine for me," he told them. "I like it here. I'm comfortable here. There's really good take out around and I'm only 20 minutes from work."

"Honey, it's a lovely place," Louisa said. "We just thought you would've moved by now."

"No reason to," he shrugged.

"Hm."

Tony knew that 'hm' meant something specific, but his gut told him that he probably didn't want to delve into what that was. He poured them each a glass of wine and handed them over, and then poured a glass of water for himself.

"How's work, Tony?" Louisa asked.

"Work is good. I'm loving work."

"We worry about you," Rose told him. "When we hear about these horrible people in the news and the things they do, we always worry about you."

Tony nodded along. He heard it from his aunts and grandmother every time they spoke. "You don't have to," he told them.

Louisa chimed in as if she hadn't heard him. "There was that man last week who shot his wife and then shot two of the policemen who came to arrest him. I worried about you after that."

Tony frowned at her. "That happened in California, and it had nothing to do with the Navy," he pointed out.

"But it could have," Rose said, backing her sister up. "When you hear about policemen being shot by gang-banging teenagers, that could be you one day."

Tony suppressed his smirk at his well-healed aunt referring to 'gang-banging teenagers' and instead leaned over to give her a quick hug and a kiss on the head. "It's not me," he assured her. "I'm fine. I haven't been shot in ages."

Louisa pointed a stern finger at him. "Make sure you don't get shot."

"I won't," Tony replied.

"I worry about you," Louisa said again, and then took a slug of wine.

"Thank you," he said uselessly, and then ushered them to the dining table. His stomach twisted in knots as he stood on the precipice of telling his aunts about the girls. Honestly, he'd been hoping that his dad would man up and tell them himself in the hospital, but Rose and Louisa had given no indication that he had. Tony surely would have known about it by now if he did. He would've heard about it even if he'd been standing three blocks away. He wasn't in regular contact with his aunts, but he still knew them well enough to know that there was no way they would not have been talking about it non-stop and at the top of their voices by now if Anthony had said something. No such luck.

He cursed Anthony in his head and then took a deep breath. "So, why don't you two sit down? I've got something I need to talk to you about."

Wine glasses paused right before they made it to perfectly painted lips, and he received twin looks of anticipation and glee that made him nothing but wary.

"Are you getting married?" Rose asked hopefully.

Tony sighed heavily, but had to smile at the predictability. "Wow. You held onto that for three hours and not once did it look like your head was going to explode."

Rose and Louisa shared a look, but seemed clueless about what he was trying to say.

"So…does that mean you are?" Louisa checked.

"No."

Louisa sighed with disappointment and threw back a large gulp of wine. Rose kept pushing.

"Do you have an ETA on when that might happen?"

Tony spread his hands and shrugged. "I don't know!" he replied, exasperated. "Probably never at this point."

Both aunts gasped as if he'd just compared Jesus to Stalin.

"I don't understand it, _tesoro!_" Rose cried. "You're so handsome and smart and charming! You're a good boy and you'll have beautiful children, and I don't understand why you won't settle down and have a family."

"Yes, I am all those things," Tony said, pulling on his signature cloak of bravado that fooled so many people. "But that's not what I want to talk about right now."

"When do you want to talk about it?" Louisa shot in, mostly teasing.

Tony shot her a gentle warning look, and she smirked back before taking another gulp of wine.

"What I want to talk about now," he said, getting things back on track, "is some news Dad shared with me yesterday." He rubbed his hands together before launching in. "Dad's got three daughters from two of his marriages."

The statement was met with deathly silence and paralyzed expressions.

"Uh, Lina is 21, Clare is 17 and Josie is just four months. Lina and Clare are from a marriage that ended about six years ago, and Josie's mother is Mia, who Dad is currently divorcing."

One of Rose's eyebrows almost arched off her head, while Louisa's knitted together in a deep frown. She looked between her sister and her nephew, and then made the comment that Tony was sure was on Rosa's mind as well.

"What the _fuck?_"

"I met them all yesterday," Tony said, continuing as if the outburst was completely normal (and it was). "Had dinner with Lina and Clare. They're really, really sweet and you'll like them a lot."

Rose snapped out of her paralysis. "And you're just telling us about them now?" she demanded.

Tony held his hands up. "I didn't know anything about them until yesterday!" he defended. "And I didn't want to tell you on the phone."

"You didn't know about them?"

"No!"

And that's when the drama kicked in.

"What kind of self-absorbed, neglectful, cowardly piece of crap doesn't tell his family, doesn't tell his _son_, that he had three more kids?" Rose screamed. She pushed back her chair and started pacing Tony's kitchen and dining room and gesturing wildly. Tony watched wine spill out of her glass and drip onto the hardwood floor. "I mean, who the hell does he think he is? Charlie Chaplin?"

Tony frowned at the reference and looked at Louisa for help. Louisa shook her head, and they both looked at Rose.

Rose paused her pacing to sigh and catch them up. "He was a _silent_ movie star," she pointed out. "Who had a lot of kids well into his old age."

"Oh," Tony and Louisa said.

Rose nodded and started her dramatic pacing again. "Why wouldn't he tell us?" she wailed. "Why would he keep us out of it for 21 years?"

"Because he's a selfish, unreliable drunk who's been coddled from cradle to grave," Louisa spat. She threw back the rest of her wine and then reached for the bottle and poured another glass. "He thinks he can get away with everything because he _always_ gets away with everything. "

Rose snorted. "That's rich coming from _you_, Lou. The baby of the family always gets what she wants."

Louisa looked almost more upset by the accusation than she was about Anthony's secret kids. "I _never_ got what I wanted!" she screeched. "I always got your hand-me-downs. You got the new things because you were the first girl, and Anthony got the new things because he was the only boy. I had to put up with clothes that were two years out of fashion—"

"Oh, cry me a river," Rose scoffed.

Tony rubbed his face and rested his head in his hands as the fight lost its way and his aunts started bickering over the same damn things they'd been bickering about for over 60 years. They argued over hand-me-downs, old boyfriends, the time Louisa stabbed Rose with a pencil, a Chanel suit they accused each other of losing and which one of them was the bossiest. Tony just let them go, knowing that they'd tire themselves out eventually, all the while staring at the half-empty bottle of wine and wondering if he would still have the skill to funnel it like a beer.

It took five minutes for them to realize that they'd gotten way off topic and that Tony had stopped participating. Rose stopped pacing and returned to the table, and reached over to put a sympathetic hand on his arm.

"Are you all right, sweetheart?"

Tony lifted his head from his hands. "Are you both serious?" he questioned, incredulous. "You're seventy—"

"Watch it," Rose warned.

"And you're still arguing over this crap?" he finished. "Grow up!"

"Oh, honey, it doesn't mean anything," Louisa told him. "You know how siblings are."

"No, I don't. I'm an only child," Tony replied, and then pointedly added, "Oh, wait. _No__I__'__m__not_."

The comment was enough to draw sympathetic cooing noises out of both aunts, and Rose switched chairs so that she could hug him to her side.

"I'm sorry, _tesoro_," she said. "Are you all right?"

"I'm fine," he replied automatically.

"I doubt that you can be fine after all this," Louisa said.

Tony shook his head. "I am, really. It doesn't matter. I—"

"It _doesn__'__t__matter?_" Rose echoed. "You have sisters that you never knew about. How can you be fine with him not telling you that?"

Bitterness rose quickly in Tony's throat, but for the safe of avoiding more drama he swallowed it down and tried to smooth things out. "Look, we haven't had a close relationship for a long time."

Rose looked at him like he was bleeding from the head. "Wouldn't you tell him if you had three kids?"

Tony rubbed his head as he felt a sudden stabbing pain in his temple. "I don't know," he replied honestly. "Probably, I guess. I would definitely tell you."

Rose ruffled his 40-year-old hair and kissed his cheek. "Does Nonna know?"

The stabbing pain suddenly got stronger and he squeezed his eyes shut for a moment. "No. And I need your advice on how to handle that."

"I'll tell her," Rose said.

Tony almost burst into tears of relief at one thing being taken off his plate of responsibility. "Thank you." He took a deep breath and regained some control of his emotions. "About the girls, they're actually coming over for lunch in about 20 minutes. Well, Lina and Clare, anyway."

"They are?" Louisa asked, sitting up straighter.

"Yes, and please be nice to them."

Louisa looked offended. "Why wouldn't we be nice to them? We're nice people."

"Well, you've been pretty angry," Tony pointed out.

"At your father," Rose said. "And I can't wait to go back to the hospital and give him a piece of my mind, and don't think that Nonna's not going to break his legs for this." She took a breath before she ran away with the thought. "It's not the girls' fault. I can't wait to meet them."

"What are they like?" Louisa asked.

Tony felt a genuine smile stretch his lips. "They're great," he said with a shrug. "They're beautiful and smart and funny and just really warm. You'll like them a lot, I think." Well, he _hoped_ they would. Because with all the other drama going on, Tony really didn't think he was equipped to deal with feuding aunts and brand new sisters.

The girls arrived ten minutes early, and when Tony opened the door to them they both greeted him with a hug and a kiss on the cheek. He wasn't expecting it and it put him off balance for a moment, and he had to wonder about how different their upbringing had been to his.

"Lunch is just about ready," he told them. "Do you want a drink?"

"Diet Coke," they said in unison.

He could have guessed that. He took them to the dining room where Rose and Louisa had risen from their seats, and he covered his intense nerves by making a production of the introductions. Classic DiNozzo.

"Well, here we all are, finally," he began, and put his hand on Lina's shoulder. "This is Lina, 21 years old and her current hometown is New York City. Lina's about to graduate NYU with a degree in chemistry and plans on saving the world from its own filth. She also loves antique furniture."

He moved on to Clare. "And this is Clare, just 17 years old, which explains that sick feeling of jealousy you've got in your stomachs right now. Clare's a high school junior with a 3.5 GPA. She's the best cheerleader The Truman School's ever seen, and she's going to be a professional dancer."

He moved around the table and put his arm around Rose's shoulders. "Wonder Twins, meets your aunts Rose and Louisa. Rose here is next in line after Dad. She's the owner and operator of one of Long Island's oldest and most well-known guesthouses."

He switched sides to stand between Rose and Louisa and took Louisa's hand. "Louisa is the youngest of the kids, and she's the soft touch, FYI. She's in publishing and used to be an editor at Random House. Rose has six kids and ten grandkids. Louisa has four kids and two grandkids, and she's really irritated that Rose has more. But at least she's beating Dad."

"And this is Tony," Louisa began. "He has a very important job with the Government and runs around with a gun and a badge, rescuing damsels in distress. He is determined to kill us all by refusing to marry or have kids, but apparently that's because he's too busy protecting and serving. He's known for taking better care of other people than himself. Not that he wants you to notice that. And you two are about to find out how lucky you are to have him as a brother."

Tony kissed her head. "Louisa's great at the backhanded compliment."

"There was nothing backhanded about it, _tesoro_," Louisa said, and then smiled at the girls. "It's lovely to meet you."

"We just wish it had happened 21 years ago," Rose added.

"Me too," Lina said, and then came around the table to greet them. As Tony had hoped, his aunts welcomed her and Clare with open arms, and with the ice broken the four of them started talking over the top of each other like old friends as they got to know each other.

He didn't know why he'd wasted any time being worried.

Tony was just sitting back at the table after clearing away their lunch plates when Rose decided that they needed a break from stories about childhoods and family history and turned her attention to the state of Tony's affairs. She half-heartedly tried to dress it up as curiosity about the fourth DiNozzo child, but Tony's aunts had never really gotten the hang of subtlety.

"So, when will we get to meet Josie?" she asked casually, before looking very pointedly at Tony. "It's been so long since I got to cuddle a little one."

Tony didn't believe for a second that Josie was the one on her mind. But if she was going to insist on dancing around the subject of Tony's plans for reproducing, he would dance around his awareness of her real question. He looked back at her impassively and gave her an 'innocent' reply. "Don't you have a two-year-old grandson?" he pointed out helpfully. "I'm sure that Robert would _love__it_ if you visited him."

Rose played along with him, refusing to be shamed. "They grow up so fast," she told him.

"I'm sure you'll get to meet and cuddle Josie soon."

Rose smiled beatifically and leaned in, as if imparting a little-known fact about herself. "I love babies."

"Well, you should have been a pediatrician or a midwife or something," Tony commented.

Rose grew tired of him dodging the bait and looked at Louisa. Louisa picked up where Rose left off.

"You know, having kids was the best thing I ever did," she told him, but had the presence of mind to glance at the girls as well to make it appear that this was actually a continuance of the conversation they were having over lunch about themselves. "You just don't know how much more love and meaning and joy they bring to your life until you have one."

Tony picked up his coffee with a shrug. "Well, you don't know what you don't know, right?"

Louisa turned her eyes on him and gave him that calm smile that he knew her kids called her _Mother__Knows__Best_ smile. "I think you would be a wonderful father, Tony," she said bluntly, dropping the act that Rose had started. "I think you would love it."

Tony dropped his act as well and sighed with exasperation. "You think that based on what?" he asked defensively.

"I've always thought so!" Louisa replied, as if truly wounded that anyone would ever think that wasn't her position. "I've always thought you should have children."

Time for the patented DiNozzo deflection-with-a-joke move. "Well, see, I don't have the correct anatomy to make that happen."

Rose threw up her hands and jumped back into the conversation, apparently unimpressed with Louisa's attempt at getting him to talk about it. "I just don't understand it, _tesoro!_" she wailed. "You're so handsome and smart!"

"I still don't have a uterus," he replied, adding a disappointed expression for good measure.

Rose leaned over. "Hey, I know a few people who do have uteruses who would probably like to be impregnated—"

"Oh my _God!_" Tony cut in, totally beyond his patience for the topic now. Over the other side of the table Lina and Clare started to snicker, but Tony was pretty sure they were laughing at Rose and Louisa's persistent and increasingly desperate meddling than his reaction to it. Which was good, because otherwise he might be tempted to give them a lecture about backing up your team.

And him, Lina and Clare were kind of team now, weren't they?

"I just think—" Rose began, but Tony didn't need to hear it.

"I know what you think," he cut in, managing to find some humor amid his exasperation to add a chuckle. "You are very, very clear on what you think and have left no room for misinterpretation. Believe me. I'm hearing you."

He didn't really expect that to satisfy his aunt, and it didn't. She just changed her tactic. "I just want you to be happy, Tony."

"Who says I'm not happy?"

She and Louisa left out perfectly timed snorts of disbelief, and Louisa took over again.

"You're standing still, darling," she explained gently. "And we can see the effort that's taking in your eyes."

Tony frowned. Jesus, was this about him living in the same apartment for ten years on top of not being single and childless? The stabbing pain in his temple from earlier returned and he pressed his fingers against the side of his head. "What's that?"

"You worry too much about other people," she went on, although Tony couldn't immediately see the connection between that and their accusation that he was standing still. "You don't leave enough time to worry about yourself."

"I don't need to worry about me," Tony insisted, even as the stabbing pain got stronger. "I'm fine."

"You're not fine," they both told him.

At a loss, Tony looked to Lina and Clare for help. But Clare was looking at him with a cocked head and a deeply analytical expression, and Lina looked like she was _this__close_ to jumping on the _Save__Tony__'__s__Soul_ bandwagon. Tony didn't want to be analyzed _or_ saved, so he cleared his throat and cracked a joke.

"Remember how I told you guys that Rose and Louisa live for drama? This is still low-level stuff, but it should give you an idea of how they feed off each other. It'll be this to the power of ten on Christmas Day."

"You need a family, Tony," Louisa stated as fact, although much of the nagging had left her tone. "A family is what helps you through the hard times. They're the eyes in the back of your head that keep you safe." She paused and gave him a look that made the stabbing pain in his temple move to his chest. "A family means you don't have to do things alone."

If the last two days hadn't left him so close to unraveling, Tony would have laughed at the notion of someone trying to tell him what family meant. For the love of God, he _knew_ that. It was what he'd wanted out of life since his was eight years old. A family to depend on and look out for him like he'd look out for them. And he'd found one. He'd found it in Gibbs and Ziva and McGee and Abby and Kate. He'd come close to forming other families over the years—when he joined the force a year out of college, when he joined his basketball team, and when he'd dabbled with the idea of settling down with Jeanne Bennoit. But the one he had now was stronger than blood—a fact he was sure of because Gibbs had been a better father to him than Senior ever had. He understood that it wasn't the type of family Louisa was talking about. It wasn't even the type of family he'd been looking for. But it was the one he ended up with, and it was enough for him.

That was what his head said, anyway. His heart, if the growing pain in his chest was to be believed, disagreed. His heart wanted the girl. His heart wanted a kid, damn it. His heart wanted him to stop pretending that he was fine and make some kind of crazy Lloyd Dobler-esque grand gesture that might help him get the girl. Except that the girl in question probably didn't know what a boom box was. Or she'd call it a tune box or something else completely bizarre and then look at him like _he_ was the one who had it wrong.

Yeah, he wanted a family with Ziva, as ridiculous as that sounded. He couldn't remember when exactly she had become an indispensable part of his life, or when he started adding her to his thoughts about his future. He couldn't remember when the desire to lean over and kiss her stopped being about pure physical attraction and bravado and started being about wanting to show her how much he loved and valued her. All he knew was that now he felt like a huge part of him was entwined with a huge part of her, and he didn't have a clue how to go about untangling himself like he knew he probably should, lest Gibbs catch wind of it and start cutting them apart with a rusty chainsaw.

He wasn't ready to admit that to his aunts and sisters, though. He didn't want to talk about his feelings with them, particularly not now. Not when he knew he had to keep being the outwardly stable and controlled one. He had to remain calm so that the girls wouldn't get scared, and so that Rose and Louisa could continue to wail and stomp and scream their way through the situation. If he went along with the drama—any drama—things might start falling apart.

He took a breath and responded to Louisa's heartfelt advice with another joke. "Did you just quote me the theme song to some 1980s sit-com? Because I've got something like _The__Golden__Girls_ rattling around in my head now."

He watched a touch of sadness enter Louisa's eyes as her shoulders caved in and she gave up. He might have been home free at that point if Lina hadn't decided to pipe up and 'help' him.

"Don't worry," she told her aunts. "He's already got a family in his sights. Well, the wife part, anyway."

Tony almost did a spit-take. "What?"

And just like that, Rose and Louisa were up again.

"Who is she?" Rose asked breathlessly.

"His partner, Ziva," Lina told them, glancing at Clare for back up.

"He's totally in love with her," Clare confirmed.

Having sisters had been so nice for 24 hours, but now Tony was going to have to kill them. "You heard me talk about her for three seconds," he started to protest.

"He has about a hundred photos of her on his phone," Lina continued.

"And heaps of just the two of them," Clare added.

Tony crossed his arms over his chest, still refusing to believe their theory about that. "I'm telling you, that doesn't mean a damn thing."

"Of course it does!" Rose replied, and Tony found it even harder to believe that his 70-year-old aunt would know a modern dating rule that he didn't. "Who is Ziva? Show me your phone."

"I am _not_ showing you my phone."

Clare jumped up and pushed back her chair excitably. "Oh! I saw one on the fridge," she said, and ran on her toes through his apartment. She was gone for all of five seconds before returning, holding the photo in the air like it was an Oscar. She slid it across the table to Rose. "Here."

Rose and Louisa both fumbled with their handbags as they searched for their glasses, and when better vision was restored they hunched over the self portrait of Tony and Ziva taken a couple of months back. They both gasped and clutched their chests at the same time, and Tony slid back in his chair as a heavy sense of resignation fell over him. They were never going to give up on this idea of family now. Not until they saw him standing at the front of a church and reciting vows to a woman—any woman—in a wedding dress.

"Beautiful!" Louisa exclaimed, and then looked at Tony over the top of her glasses. "Tony, she's beautiful," she repeated, as if this would be new information to him.

Tony sighed heavily but saw no point in arguing the fact. "It's not exactly a chore to look at her," he said. Then he threw in a lie. "But I do so in a strictly professional capacity."

Neither woman seemed to listen to that part.

"You look good together," Rose told him. "What's her background?"

Tony frowned. "She started in the army—"

"Heritage, love," Rose elaborated.

"Oh. My _friend_ and co-worker Ziva is Israeli."

"Did you get to see her last night?" Clare asked him with a teasing smirk.

"And when you got to her place, was she already in bed?" Lina added.

Oh, they were _so__dead_. He shot them a warning look that was just this side of good humored, but hopefully gave them the message to stop giving their aunts more ammunition. "Thank you for showing an interest, girls," he said with forced politeness. "I did get to see her last night, and we had an interesting conversation."

Lina scrunched her nose in apology, but he had no idea whether Clare caught on.

"When can we meet her?" Louisa asked.

Tony almost choked. "Um, never."

"You don't think we'll be nice?" Rose challenged. "We'll be nice. And we'll be very discreet."

He had to laugh. "Rose, don't use words you don't know the meaning of."

Rose cut a stern look his way. "Tony, don't bullshit us."

"I'm not!" he lied.

Louisa smoothed it over. "Honey, even if this extremely beautiful woman who you clearly have a close relationship with isn't the one you're planning on marrying, it would still be nice to meet some of your friends. We don't get to see you very much, and it would be lovely to talk to some of the people that you spend your time with now. You know, just so that we feel like we're part of your life."

It was blatant, unapologetic manipulation, and Tony knew it as he rolled his eyes and muttered an expletive. But it worked all the same and he found himself nodding even as he told himself he was walking into trouble.

"Fine," he said. "I will introduce you to some people. But I am warning you that if you make any comment to any of them about how Tony needs a family, I will strangle you both with your pearl necklaces. Okay?"

Rose and Louisa seemed completely unconcerned by his threat, and just smiled brightly back at him.

"Great!" Rose said. "I know it will be a lot of fun."


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N: Okay, I'm still not really focusing on this one. But this chapter's been half written for a while, so I decided to finish it in thanks for the freaking overwhelming response to the last chapter. Thanks, you guys!  
>Disclaimer: Disclaimed. <strong>

* * *

><p>Tony had led the kind of life that bred familiarity with hospitals.<p>

In the year before his mother died he'd sometimes felt like he spent more time walking the linoleum floors around her room than he had at school. His drive to make a career of competitive sports sent him to the ER eight times between the ages of 12 and 21, and he'd had three significant operations before he was 22. He joined the police force when he was 24, and he honestly couldn't count the number of times since then that he'd either been wheeled in on a gurney, or run beside someone else on a gurney, or burst into a waiting room in a panic, or interviewed an admitted patient. And on top of that, he'd dated an intern for the better part of a year. Yes, Tony DiNozzo was well acquainted with hospitals and hospital procedure, and so he knew what he was talking about when he said that the waiting part of any visit—whether it be as a patient or visitor—was the worst part.

He'd arrived at the hospital that morning at the beginning of visiting hours only to find his sisters (that still felt so weird to him) and aunts already competing for all the oxygen in his room. His dad was staring at the TV with another frown on his face—Tony recognized it as his _what __form __of __torture __would __be __preferable __to __this?_ face—as Rose and Louisa talked over the top of each other at Lina and Clare about DiNozzo family history. Anthony shot him a look of pure desperation, but Tony had just nodded in acknowledgement and shrugged, and then sat in the corner of the room and let the chaos happen around him.

It took an hour for the nurses to come to get Anthony ready for surgery by which time his blood pressure was so high that the operation was almost called off. But when Rose and Louisa left the room to go in search of drinkable coffee, Anthony was able to relax enough that his stay of execution was denied. Tony had hovered uncomfortably in the background while Anthony had hugged and kissed his young daughters and told them with all the confidence of a father saving face that everything was going to be fine. But after the girls left the room entwined in a nervous hug, Anthony let the mask fall and turned his scared eyes on his son.

"If something goes wrong," he'd started in a voice shaking with age and nerves, "I want you to look out for them. I don't mean raise them. They're old enough. I just mean look out for them. Help 'em buy their cars and veto their boyfriends, you know? Let them stay with you when they come to town. Don't let them get pregnant until they're 35. Make sure Clare goes to college. And make sure you're there when Lina gets her heart broken, because it's going to happen to her a lot. She's like you, kid. She loves too easy and too hard."

Tony wasn't sure why his throat had gotten so tight all of a sudden, but he'd put a stop to Anthony's last words. "Dad, I promise I will do all of that. But you're going to be able to do all that too. You're going to be fine."

Anthony nodded like he knew he was panicking, but couldn't help it. "Okay, but just one last thing. Make sure Josie knows who I was. She's not going to remember me."

"I'll tell her all about you," Tony had assured him. Then, off Anthony's wary look, he revised, "I'll edit the stories to be age appropriate."

Anthony breathed out a relieved sigh. "Thanks, kid." He'd caught Tony's wrist in his hand and looked up at him with unfiltered emotion that made Tony want to run far away. "You know I…well, I love you a lot, Tony."

It was possibly the most awkward moment the two of them had ever shared, and Tony had been vaguely shamed by the feeling that he didn't quite believe him. And yet, he was still left with the stinging eyes and tight throat of a son who'd always wanted to hear the words. So he'd discreetly cleared his throat and cut the guy some slack. "Yeah. I love you too, Dad."

That Brady Bunch moment had passed three hours ago, and the expanding DiNozzo clan had been waiting around the hospital corridors ever since. There was a nice waiting room with nice couches that overlooked a nice garden with a nice pond full of nice fish, but it had been shrinking in size with every fight his aunts had about whose grandchild was smarter, whose vacation plans were more exciting, and who had been the most hard done by growing up. Tony loved his aunts—truly, they were amazing women and he admired them both for what they'd managed to achieve in their lives—but Jesus, sometimes he just wanted to smother them with a throw cushion.

When he felt the stabbing pain in his temple from the night before start up again, he excused himself to go in search of more coffee (or possibly a bottle of whiskey, if he happened across one of those first). What he ended up finding was Clare, who was sitting by herself in the sunshine outside the cafeteria. She seemed to be staring off into the distance at nothing, and he wondered how long she'd been sitting like that. Tony's own personal record for zoning out in times of hospital waiting room crisis was about an hour. He reckoned that a 17-year-old girl would probably be able to beat him.

He was standing beside her, ready to sit on the ledge of a raised garden bed beside her when Clare looked up at him with a half hopeful, half worried expression.

"Did you get some news?"

Tony shook his head and took a seat. "Not yet."

Clare pressed her lips into a thin line and nodded. "Okay."

Tony watched as she briefly bit her lip, and that same feeling of protectiveness he got when he watched Abby worry about Gibbs or McGee came over him. He recalled his father's words about looking out for the girls and figured there was no better time to get started.

He had no frame of reference for how heart-to-heart talks with family members should go, so he just pretended she was Abby, tackled it head on, and hoped she wouldn't start crying.

"Are you all right?" he started gently.

Clare looked up at him and rolled her eyes self-consciously. "Yeah. Just a little overwhelmed with, well, everything, I guess."

Tony got that. Hell, the poor girl was only 17 and it had to be a lot for her to deal with. "Yeah. Me too," he admitted, attempting to reach out to her a little more.

Clare turned a curious look on him. "It kind of doesn't seem that way," she told him. "You seem really together and like you're just taking everything in your stride."

He couldn't deny it was a relief to hear that when the reality was that he felt like such a mess inside. He tried to explain where he was coming from. "Well, I guess I get overwhelmed a lot, so I've got more practice with dealing with it."

Clare crossed her legs, dug her elbow into her knee and propped her chin on her hand. "Why do you get overwhelmed a lot?"

"Because of my job," Tony told her. "It can get pretty intense, but there's never a good time or place to freak out or fall apart, no matter how much I want to. And some days I _really_ do want to." He shot her a smile of solidarity. "Victims and their families need you to be in control so they can trust you. I've gotten pretty good at making it look like I'm in control, even if it's not how I really feel."

As Clare quietly considered that, Tony wondered if his therapist he saw sporadically would be proud of him being so honest with a relative stranger, as it were.

"So, you're a really big mess under the surface?" Clare summed up.

He smiled at her with self-awareness. "I am _always_ a big mess under the surface, Clare. Ask anyone." That got a smile out of her, and satisfied that he'd managed to gain a little more of her trust, Tony decided to try out his wise older brother shoes. "It's okay to freak out if you need. Rose and Louisa thrive on drama, so don't hold back on their account."

Clare nodded thoughtfully as she inspected her nails. "Lina's like you," she told him. "She's always in control. She hates it when I get worked up about stuff."

Tony nudged her elbow with his. "Yeah, well the good thing about family is that you can do stuff that bugs the crap out of them and they still love you afterwards. I play that card all the time."

"With who?"

"Gibbs. McGee. Ziva. I spend my days deliberately annoying them just to amuse myself, and none of them has shot me yet." He cocked his head as he rethought that statement. "Well, not shot. But Gibbs smacks my head a lot. And Ziva frequently threatens violence. And now that I think of it, McGee threw a punch once."

Clare frowned as though she found the information bizarre, but didn't question him on the dysfunctional relationship. "You think of them as your family?"

Tony nodded firmly. "Yeah."

"Is that a cop thing?"

Tony bobbed his head as he thought it over. He hadn't really felt like he'd been part of a family until he arrived at NCIS, but he'd seen teams and partnerships in his previous precincts that could pass for something like that. "Yeah, it can be."

Clare opened her mouth and then closed it again before biting her lip and looking at her shoes. Tony knew what that meant. Either she had a question she wasn't sure she wanted the answer to, or she had a question that she thought might upset him. As an investigator and someone who was naturally curious, Tony encouraged her to ask anyway.

"What?"

Clare looked at him with sad eyes and dropped her voice. "Have you ever had to deal with any of them dying? I mean, not Ziva and Gibbs and McGee, obviously. But other people who were like family too?"

Tony felt a pang in his chest as memories of Kate Todd in particular came to him. He still thought of her just about every day, and he still missed her, but the loss didn't hurt as keenly as it once had. "Yeah," he told Clare. "My partner before Ziva died in the line of duty. Her name was Kate. And our previous director died as well. She was close to our team."

"What happened to them?"

His first instinct was to protect her from the tragic truth, but she wasn't a child and he didn't want to treat her like one. He had a feeling Clare would catch on, and that she wouldn't appreciate it if he did. So he gave her a sanitized version of the truth. "They were both shot," he said simply.

Clare's eyes—he was beginning to see familial resemblance in them now—filled with empathy. "Sorry." Her gaze returned to the toes of her brown boots. "I never really lost anyone before," she admitted in a small voice.

Tony took a chance and put a comforting hand on her back. "Clare, it's okay to be scared," he told her. "And it's okay to hate it and be angry and even not know how to deal with it. But Dad's not going to die. He's going to be fine. He'll have the stent put in, and if that doesn't help they'll try something else. The doctors are going to take really good care of him."

Clare seemed to appreciate his level head and gave him a weak smile. "Are you just saying that to make me feel better?"

He shook his head. "No. I'm saying it because it's true."

She heaved a heavy sigh and nodded as her shoulders dropped. "Okay."

Tony rubbed her back and Clare responded by putting her arm around his and squeezing herself into his side. He thought it was so strange that the girls were so touchy feely with him, and wondered if it was because of their mother. Anthony had never been a hugger, that was for sure, although Tony allowed that he might've been different with daughters. His mother had hugged him a lot though, and he wondered if he would have turned out more like the girls if she had lived. He remembered how she used to stroke his hair to calm him down and how it always made him feel safe and happy. He'd have to remember to do that if he ever managed to have kids of his own.

Clare sniffed as she let go of him and gave him a grateful smile. "Can we change the subject now?"

"Sure."

She cleared her throat, and with it cleared the sadness from her face. "Okay, so there's still a bunch of stuff I don't know about you. Like…what's your middle name?"

He smirked with the thought of all the little things they had to catch up on. "David," he said. "Which makes my initials A.D.D., and Dad will tell you that's significant." He smiled as Clare laughed. "How about you?"

"Margarette," she replied, screwing up her nose with distaste. "When's your birthday?"

"July 8."

"I'm November 13."

"Huh," Tony grunted. Off Clare's questioning look he told her, "Ziva's November 12. What about Lina?"

"April 28. And her middle name is Daniella." She paused and rolled her eyes dramatically. "First born always gets the best of everything. It's so annoying."

Tony was fairly certain that although her delivery suggested her exasperation was all for show, she'd probably felt like she'd been living in her older sister's shadow all her life. He filed that away to talk about when they knew each other a little better. "Did you two grow up in New York?"

"Hartford," Clare said with a shake of her head. "Me and Mom and Lina moved to Philadelphia after Mom and Dad got divorced."

"I lived there for a while," Tony told her. "In Philly."

"Yeah, you said you were a cop there," Clare recalled.

"I didn't stay long."

"How come?"

"I had a buddy who worked in Baltimore who hooked me up with a job there," he told her, leaving out the part about a dirty captain in Philly who had it in for him.

"So, where are you from?"

"Long Island."

Clare smirked knowingly. "The posh part, I bet."

Tony's offence must have shown on his face—he'd always prided himself on getting by on his own after Anthony had cut him off—and Clare laughed.

"That comment was aimed at Dad, not you."

"Oh."

"Where did you go to college?"

"Ohio State."

"You've moved around a lot," Clare commented.

"I've been in the same place for ten years now," he felt the need to say. Yeah, he'd moved from place to place when he was still young and trying to find the perfect place for himself, the place that suited his needs and desires. But he'd done a lot of growing up during his time at NCIS, and he didn't want Clare thinking that he wasn't dependable.

"So you think you'll stay here?"

"I'm happy right now, and I like my job," he insisted, feeling some of yesterday's frustration at his aunts and their love-based bullying bubble to the surface again. He changed the subject before Clare could reignite that line of questioning. "Where are you going to apply to college?"

"NYU, Florida, Berkley," she rattled off. "Juilliard is the dream, but that's probably not going to happen." She added a self-conscious laugh, and Tony wondered if there was someone somewhere in her life who was telling her she couldn't do it.

"It's worth trying though, right?"

"Yeah," she said with a shrug.

Tony looked for something supportive and useful to say. "Look after your knees." It wasn't exactly the warmest life advice, but it was sure as hell practical.

"Huh?"

"I was an athlete in college," he told her. "I know how much stress you put on your body. How far you push it. I know the commitment you've got to put in when you want to make a career out of your body. And the best piece of advice I can give you is to look after your knees. Because once you blow them out, it's never the same. And they'll hurt on and off for the rest of your life." He shot her a smile of resignation.

"Okay, noted," Clare said, nodding. "What kind of athlete were you?"

"I was on a basketball scholarship, but I played football too." He couldn't resist adding, "I dabbled in baseball, but that was more in high school."

Possibly encouraged by the news that the two of them had something in common, Clare gave him a broad smile. "I guess if you were on a scholarship you were pretty good."

"I was," he said. He heard Clare's next question in the pause that followed, and answered before she had to ask. "I didn't take care of my knees. Blew out my left one in my final year in front of NBA scouts."

Clare winced. "Wow. That sucks."

The girl had a gift for understatement. He pointed at her sternly. "Be good to your knees."

"Got it."

"Also because knee reconstructions are expensive."

Clare nodded again. "Okay. I swear, I've got it."

He figured she'd had her fill of wise advice for the day, and so he cocked his head back towards the hospital. "Let's go see if there's any word yet."

When they returned to the waiting room, Tony's aunts and Lina had been joined by Mia and Josie. He took one look at Rose's expression of delight in the face of a four-month-old baby and promptly turned on his heel and left the room again. No way in hell was he going to sit in a small room with two clucky aunts and a baby. He muttered something about needing to make a phone call and then walked at double speed down the hallway towards the nurses' station.

An old man in an expensive suit was leaning over the desk and smiling at a nurse young enough to be his granddaughter. Tony made a face at the disturbing display and made a mental note to stop flirting with women under 30 lest he end up looking like that guy…who Tony could now see was Anthony's best friend for the last 40-something years. His look of disgust gave way to an eye roll. That kind of behavior was totally expected.

As he watched Mike Richardson try to charm the nurse, Tony got a sick feeling in his stomach that had nothing to do with a septuagenarian embarrassing himself. He remembered Richardson as being kind of a bully who'd taken perverse enjoyment in belittling Tony and his friends. But Tony reasoned that there was no reason to give a crap about any of that now. At least 25 years had passed between then and now, so why should Tony care about what the guy thought of him?

He squared his shoulders and approached Richardson with his _in __control __cop_ face in place. "Mr Richardson?"

Richardson looked up from his flirting and looked Tony up and down. A flicker of recognition entered his eyes, and Tony held out his hand.

"Tony DiNozzo. It's been a while."

Richardson stood up straight and smiled at Tony like they'd always been great buddies. He shook his hand with firm gusto, and clapped Tony on the shoulder with his free hand. "Hey! Look at you all grown up, kid. How the hell have you been?"

"I've been doing good, sir," Tony replied. "How about you? How's your wife?"

"She's in France for the summer," Richardson replied. "Visiting Stephanie. You remember Stephanie?"

Stephanie was Richardson's daughter. She was a few years younger than Tony and had a semi-successful modeling career in the early-90s. "Sure. She was modeling Gucci handbags on the wall in the subway when I lived in Philly. How's she doing?"

"She's perfect," Richardson replied, even though Tony was pretty sure he'd heard she'd developed a spectacular cocaine addiction at some point. "Living in Paris with her husband and two kids."

"That's great," Tony offered, and then gestured up the hallway. "Dad's still in surgery but we're all waiting up here."

Richardson turned to aim a wink at the nurse before following Tony up the hall. "So, what are you up to, kid? You still a cop?"

"Federal agent now," Tony replied.

Richardson chuckled. "You know, when Anthony told me about that I bet him 500 bucks it wouldn't last. Didn't think you'd last a year with your level of hyperactivity."

Tony kept his sigh to himself and instead forced a smile. "Well, with age comes wisdom and focus, right?"

"Sometimes," Richardson snorted. "You talk to your dad, that old dog? Caught cheating on his wife again." He shook his head, but his smirk telegraphed his approval of Anthony's recidivist behavior.

Tony really didn't want to get into a discussion about it—especially when the wife who'd caught him cheating was only a couple of feet away. "I really don't know the specifics," he said. "It's not really any of my business."

Richardson turned a smile on him that gave off the kind of chill Tony remembered from childhood. "You still sticking to that line, huh? Sticking your head in the sand and pretending you're not a member of the family?"

Tony could have pointed out that Anthony had kicked him out of the family when he was just a teenager, but continued to take the high road. "I really don't feel like Dad's cheating has anything to do with me."

Richardson gave him a measuring look. "Pretty tame response from you, kid. You've reined in that mouth of yours. It's good to see."

The comment brought to mind a handful of instances when an angry and delinquent Tony had loudly suggested to Richardson that he might like to go fuck himself. The urge to regress to his petulant past now was strong, but the ring of his cell phone in his pocket was enough of a distraction to snap him out of it. He smiled politely at Richardson as he pulled out his phone and checked called ID. _Ziva_. Man, sometimes that woman had amazing timing.

"Wisdom and focus," he repeated to Richardson, and then excused himself and headed back down the hallway for some privacy. "DiNozzo."

"Is now a good time?" Ziva asked over the line.

Tony blew out a sigh and almost laughed as he shook off the tension from his conversation with Richardson. "Yeah. Really good time. I was about to punch a jackass."

"Who is that?' Ziva asked, and then quickly added, "Not your father, right?"

"No. Dad's BFF for the last half century." He glanced up the hallway in time to see Richardson wander into the waiting room. "He's kind of a dick."

"Oh," she said. And really, what else more could she say? "I thought I would call and see how the procedure is progressing. And find out how you are dealing with the, uh, family circus, yes?"

He felt a smile stretch his face, but he didn't know whether it was caused by the idea of Ziva wanting to check in on him, or because talking to her was giving him much-needed contact with his normal life. "Thanks. He's still in surgery. And circus is an apt description for what's going on in the waiting room."

"How are your aunts?" Ziva asked.

"Crazy and deranged," he replied. "So dealing with them is really no different to what I deal with every day."

"Oh, so you are going to make fun of the person who very kindly called you in an attempt to keep you sane?" Ziva drawled.

He smiled out right. "I was not referring to _you,_ Ziva," he replied, lying through his teeth.

"Mhmm," she grunted. "Did you speak to your grandmother?"

"No. Rose is in charge of that."

"Good. You do not need to take on everything yourself," Ziva said gently.

Tony quickly swallowed the lump that brought to his throat. "Yeah," he said dismissively before changing the subject. "Is Gibbs coping okay without me?"

"Would you call throwing himself over your desk and wailing coping?"

He laughed aloud at the joke. "I'm going to make use of my finely honed investigative skills and guess that he is not within earshot right now."

"No, he is not," she confirmed. "He is briefing Vance on the outcome of our case."

Tony perked up. "You wrapped it up?"

"Yes. Our victim had three wives who did not know about each other and an impressive gambling debt."

"Was it one of the wives?" Tony asked. "I bet it was one of the wives. It's always the wife."

Ziva sighed, and he pictured her rolling her eyes at his predictable comment (which he only made these days for the reaction it always got from her). "No, it was his bookie."

"Well, I bet one of the wives would have done it if the bookie hadn't gotten to him first."

"Tony," she admonished lightly. "When do you think your father will be out of surgery?"

"Probably within the hour."

"Will you be home tonight, or are you staying there?"

He shook his head at the wall. "No, I'll definitely be home."

She hesitated before suggesting, "If you like I could come by and fill you in on the case. Give you a dose of normalcy."

Tony's eyes slid closed for a moment as his chest grew warm. "Uh, yeah," he replied as casually as she'd offered. "That'd be good."

"I will make dinner," she added. "So you needn't worry about that."

"Hadn't even thought about it," he assured her.

Her voice dropped and her speech became faster. "Oh, I have to go," she said, and Tony assumed that meant Gibbs was back from briefing Vance. "If you find that you need to cancel, just send me a message."

"Yeah. Thanks, Ziva."

"Bye."

He ended the call and slid his phone back into his pocket, and as he headed back up the hall towards the family circus Tony felt much calmer than he had all day. Just as before, he wasn't sure whether it was because of Ziva, or if it was just because Ziva had acted as a link to his normal life. He suspected it was a combination of both. But one thing he was sure of was that he was looking forward to her company that night. He might deny it to his aunts and his sisters, but a daily dose of Ziva's brand of crazy and deranged was usually enough to keep him happy.

And hell, it didn't hurt that she'd promised to cook.


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N: Thanks to everyone hanging in there on this one, despite the lengthy breaks between chapters. Sorry to make you wait for a chapter that's mostly filler, but I need the bridge between the action. I hope you enjoy it anyway.  
>Disclaimer: Disclaimed.<strong>

* * *

><p>Tony didn't leave the hospital until 1900 that night. Although word came through just past 1600 that Anthony had made it through his surgery just fine, there had been the standard hospital delay in getting him back to his room, followed by another delay when Senior fell asleep and the nurses wouldn't let the family in to see him. Then all the nurses had disappeared and they couldn't find anyone to tell them when Anthony had woken up, and by the time they were finally allowed into his room in small groups visiting hours were coming to a close.<p>

For Tony, visiting hours didn't usually mean much. If he was going to the hospital to see a patient as part of an investigation, his badge generally trumped out-of-hours rules. If he was going to see one of his colleagues, the badge would more often than not get him more leeway as well. But tonight, Tony hadn't seen the point in arguing (or flirting) his way around hospital policy. Senior was fine, if not groggy and uncomfortable, and there was no reason to sit by his bedside all night to make sure his heartbeat remained steady. That's what the dozen machines he was hooked up to and the half dozen nurses down the hallway were for.

He felt some measure of guilt, of course, that he had chosen this situation to start obeying healthcare professionals. Technically there had been no reason for him to sit by Ziva's bedside all night after a suspect had beaten the stuffing out of her a year ago. And there had been no reason to hang around outside Gibbs' door after he'd almost been blown up on a boat. But in both cases he'd fought and whined and begged to be allowed to stay so that if the steady _beep, beep, beep_ of the heart monitor suddenly became erratic or stopped altogether, then he would be right there to raise the alarm (even if that was exactly the point of the heart monitor in the first place). For reasons that both shamed him and tired him out, Tony couldn't make himself extend the same level of desperate crazy for his own father.

He had waited until everyone else had checked in on Anthony and wished him well before sticking his head in and making sure he was okay. Anthony had looked older and weaker than Tony had ever imagined he could, but he'd mustered a smile, made a crack about the cute nurse who would be looking after him overnight, and then made a complaint about the very specific part of his anatomy that was hurting and looking weird. Tony had drawn the line at a conversation about the freshly shaved family junk, promised to come back tomorrow, and then promptly left.

Lina and Clare had borne witness to Tony's disturbed and tired expression as he'd left Senior's room. Tony had expected them to be on their way home by then, but the girls' hovering spoke to their relief not only at the success of their dad's surgery, but also their inability to work out what to do with the nervous energy they'd been storing up all day. Still enjoying his days-old role of big brother that he had not yet managed to screw up, Tony had told them to meet him at his apartment. He had a few hundred DVDs for them to flick through, and their choices would allow him to profile them. The girls laughed as if he'd been joking.

Now, as he led them down the hallway to his apartment, Tony wondered what the hell he'd do if they gravitated towards The Sound of Music. He only had a copy of it because it was Ziva's favorite, and he only excused her enthusiasm for the ridiculous film because he found it so funny that someone who was more comfortable with guns and knives than dresses and heels would love it. But he didn't think he could swallow his sisters going the full Von Trapp in his living room. That kind of behavior might cause him to kick them out and never speak to them again. Or at least threaten to.

"The guy's a total sleaze," Clare was saying from behind him. "Every time I see him I feel like I should change into, like, a mumu or something."

"I know," Lina replied. "Now whenever I see him I just look at him like I pity him for how disgusting he is."

Tony frowned as he tuned back into their conversation. "Who?"

"Mr Robertson," Lina said.

"Oh. Yeah, he's always been a dick." He paused to turn a protective eye on them. "He hasn't tried to touch you or anything, has he?"

Both girls screwed up their faces as if the thought alone made them want to scrub their skin raw.

"No. He's just gross and leery," Lina said.

"You should tell him to stop it."

"I once asked him if he had a lazy eye because he'd been staring at my boobs for half an hour," Clare said conversationally. "He made this face like I was the pervert, but it made him stop, so…whatever."

Tony smiled at her nerve. He'd only known her for a few days, but he could definitely picture Clare doing that.

"Next time he leers I'm gonna punch him in the nuts," Lina declared.

Tony didn't believe her as easily as he'd believed Clare. Lina was too mature and responsible and polite to call out an older man on his behavior. Clare, however, had the spontaneity, brashness and lack of shame that only came with youth. Honestly, Tony admired it. She'd grow out of most of it eventually, but he hoped that she kept some of it with her. There weren't enough people in the world who were as upfront with their thoughts as Clare was.

Tony unlocked the door and led them into his apartment. He flicked on the lights and the girls both dropped their handbags behind the front door and slipped off their jackets in almost perfect synchrony.

"Why don't you guys grab a drink from the kitchen," he said, gesturing to the left. "I'm just going to change real quick."

He took off his jacket en route to his bedroom, but paused by the door when Lina called out to him.

"Can I have one of these beers?"

"Are you driving?" he called back.

There was a pause, and then he barely caught Lina's defeated, "Yeah."

"I'm not!" Clare called out. "Can I have one?"

Tony tossed his jacket on the bed. "Are you 21 yet?"

"No, but I'm in a private residence," she called back.

Tony was both amused and alarmed by her knowledge of the law, but he still knew more than she did. "Yeah, but you're in D.C. There's a total ban on consumption of alcohol by minors here, no matter where you are."

He was mostly just playing with her, and thought he could possibly be persuaded to let her have something. But after a silent pause Clare called back to him with a little teenage attitude to her voice.

"You coulda just said no," she said huffily.

"Then, no," he called back, and stepped into his bedroom and shut the door behind him. He hoped she wouldn't be huffy for long. Part of him wanted to just tell her to go for it. It wasn't like she was going to get drunk, and she was unlikely to get into any trouble on her way back to the hotel tonight. But she was only 17—more or less a baby as far as Tony was concerned—and he felt he was probably only considering it because he wanted her to like him. He wanted to be the cool older brother along the lines of the older siblings some of his friends had growing up, who would buy them beer and help them get into bars. That might not have been so irresponsible when the sibling in question was only 21 and essentially a kid themselves, but Tony thought it probably wasn't something that a sibling in their forties should do. And if Clare got cranky about it, she'd just have to suck it up. The DiNozzo gene carried a penchant to excess alcohol consumption, and he wasn't going to encourage the behavior in his little sisters.

Reassured by his decision, Tony quickly swapped his shirt for a t-shirt over his jeans and then left his bedroom. He heard Clare laughing at something from the kitchen, which gave him some relief that she wasn't angry. He was just about to join them when someone knocked on his door, and he changed course. Who could be coming around—?

_Ziva._

Damn it. With all the crap to deal with at the hospital he'd forgotten that Ziva was coming around to make dinner. His stomach flipped at the thought of seeing her, even as his eyes shot over to the girls in the kitchen and he felt a stab of panic in his chest. He really had been planning to keep Lina and Clare away from Ziva for a while longer. Just until they shut up about whatever feelings he might have for her. Ten years would probably do it. But he wasn't going to be able to stop them meeting now unless they all magically transported into some kind of slapstick comedy where Tony succeeded in talking to girls into jumping out the living room window, or successfully feign sickness to Ziva. Neither possibility sounded achievable, so he heaved a sigh and headed for the door. Hey, at least Rose and Louisa weren't in the kitchen. That was at least something to be thankful for.

He opened the door and there was Ziva, both hands full of grocery bags and an affectionate smile on her face that made warmth spread through his whole body. She was a hell of a sight for sore eyes.

"Hey," he said, and stepped back to give her room to come in.

"How is your father?" she asked. "Was his surgery successful?"

Tony nodded as he swung the door shut and then reached for one of the shopping bags. "Yeah, he came through okay and the doctors seemed pleased with how it went. It'll be a while before they know if it's helped at all."

"Well, it is a good start."

He nodded again before hearing a sudden _thunk, thunk_ from the kitchen. When he turned to look, Lina and Clare were both leaning over the counter separating the kitchen from the hallway to the front door, and grinning at Ziva with unrestrained glee. He narrowed his eyes at them briefly in warning, and then looked at Ziva.

"About that," he said, hooking his thumb towards the girls, "with all the drama at the hospital I kind of forgot you were coming over. So I invited the girls over too."

"Oh! Do you want me to go?" Ziva asked, as if it really wouldn't be a problem.

Tony opened his mouth to reply, but the girls got in before him.

"No!" they cried in unison.

Ziva looked at them with an amused smile before looking back at Tony and raising her eyebrow in question. Tony shook his head.

"No," he repeated. "You're completely welcome." He slid the grocery bag across the counter, took the one Ziva was still holding and put it on the counter as well. "Okay. So. Introductions."

Clare held out both hands to stop him. "Wait, wait. Do that thing you did the other day for Rose and Louisa."

Lina nodded encouragingly. "Yeah, do that. That was fun."

He allowed himself a smile at the girls seeming to like something he'd done and dipped his head. "Uh, okay." He held his hand out to Clare and looked at Ziva. "So, this is Clare. She's 17 years old, was born in Hartford and moved to Philly before settling in New York City. She's a cheerleader and a heartbreaker, and she's got her eyes on Juilliard when she graduates. She's a little bit cranky at me right now because I wouldn't let her have a beer, but she's still smiling so I guess that means she's not going to break a plate over my head. She doesn't like her middle name, and her birthday is the day after yours."

Although they were only a few feet apart, Clare gave Ziva a big, friendly wave and smile. He heard Ziva chuckle before he moved on to Lina.

"Lina here is 21, and also slightly cranky because I wouldn't let her have a beer either." He paused and looked at Ziva. "She's driving. I'm not uptight about it usually."

Ziva frowned. "About drinking? Yes, I am well aware, Tony."

He thought of times past when they'd staggered drunkenly along beside each other and conceded that she had a point. "Right. Lina goes to NYU and she's about to graduate with a degree in chemistry. She's smarter than me and you combined. She's a big fan of seafood and the music of The Bee Gees."

"I am not!" Lina cried as Clare and Tony laughed. "I was making a joke about that—" She stopped suddenly and then looked at Clare thoughtfully. "Actually, I do really like _Staying Alive_."

"You can do CPR to that," Clare told her.

Lina looked at her like she was crazy. "What?"

Clare put her hands together like she was about to perform CPR and then started pressing down on the counter in time to the beat. "Ah, ah, ah, ah, stayin' alive, stayin' alive." She grinned at her sister, clearly relishing the unusual instance that she knew something her smarty pants sibling did not. "We learnt it in health class."

Lina looked like she wanted to argue, but in the end she shrugged and let it go. "Cool. I'll remember that if I ever have to bring a dude back to life."

"Make sure you do," Clare snarked back.

Tony looked between the two of them while he waited for them to finish. When it appeared they were done, he put his hand on Ziva's back and made her introduction.

"DiNozzo girls, this is Ziva," he said, and both girls waved at her.

"Hi," they sing-songed in unison.

"Hello," Ziva said with a smile and a nod.

Tony looked at her appraisingly as he tried to think of how to introduce her without scaring the crap out of his sisters. "Ziva's been my partner at NCIS for about seven years, on and off. Mostly on. She runs, like, a hundred miles a day before you and I have even gotten out of bed. She speaks eight languages, her favorite drink is Berry Mango Madness and she has had about as many traffic violations as a person can have and still keep their license. She likes to cook, she hates clowns, and she's a total badass so don't get on the wrong side of her."

Ziva's smile faltered just a touch with the last piece of information, but if the girls were wary they didn't show it. Both of them came around the counter and Lina was the first one to kiss Ziva's cheek and grab her in a tight hug.

"It's so awesome to meet you," Lina said as Tony panicked over how touch-adverse Ziva would handle being grabbed by a stranger. "We've already heard so much about you."

"Oh," Ziva said, and briefly met Tony's eyes over his sister's shoulder. He shook his head, hoping to assure her that was a lie.

Lina stepped back and Clare took her place, hugging Ziva with less zeal but as much sincerity. When she stepped back she held Ziva at arm's length and looked at her in awe.

"Oh my God, I _love_ your hair."

Ziva smiled politely as Tony bit back a smirk and recalled Clare asking him if Ziva's curls were real. Lina caught his eye, and shook her head and rolled her eyes. He was getting the distinct impression that Clare had a thing about hair.

"Thank you," Ziva said, and then quickly moved on. "It is wonderful to meet you both. You are staying for dinner, yes?"

"Yes," Tony answered for them. "What are you making us?"

"Just moussaka," she said. "And a quick apple and raspberry tart. I would have planned something more interesting if I had known you would be here. I will have to cook properly for you next time."

The girls looked between each other and then at Tony.

"Well, I usually eat ramen noodles for dinner, so that sounds kind of awesome," Lina said.

"Then I will get started."

Ziva headed into the kitchen, and as soon as her back was turned both girls gave Tony a very enthusiastic thumbs up. Tony pointed at them sternly.

"_Stop it_," he whispered to them. "Or no dessert."

In response the girls crossed their hearts and attempted to look trustworthy and innocent. Tony didn't buy their act for a minute. He took a calming breath and tried to prepare himself for the circus that was to come.

Lina followed Ziva into the kitchen and approached her as she started unpacking the grocery bags. "Do you need help?"

Ziva smiled her thanks. "Sure. Do you know how to make Béchamel sauce?"

Lina pursed her lips and aimed a quick look at a clueless Clare. "Um, maybe," she said at length. "What is it?"

"Just a white sauce."

Lina didn't appear any more confident with the description. "Does it come out of a bottle?"

Ziva chuckled. "No. How about you slice up the eggplant?"

Lina took an enthusiastic step towards the counter. "Yes! I can do that. I know what an eggplant is and I know how to use a knife."

"Not like Ziva, you don't," Tony muttered, just loud enough for Ziva to hear.

Ziva looked over her shoulder to send him a weak frown. "Be quiet."

"Did you used to be a chef or something?" Clare asked her.

"No," Ziva replied, but did not elaborate. "Would you like to help, Clare?"

Clare did the opposite of her sister and backed away from the counter, her hands up in defense. "Oh, no," she said as Lina snickered. "I don't even know how to boil water."

Tony smirked to himself as he passed behind her en route to the fridge. "You must've gotten that from Dad."

Lina and Clare both laughed, and then Lina spun around to point at her sister with a large knife.

"Oh my God! Remember that time Dad was trying to deep-fry shrimp or something for Mom's birthday? And he poured all the boiling hot oil into a plastic bucket when he was done with it, and it burnt a hole in the bottom of the bucket?"

Clare snorted and leaned casually over the kitchen island. "Yeah, and there was, like, five gallons of oil all over the kitchen floor."

"And he tried to soak it all up with just paper towels," Lina went on. "Until Mom came in and pitched a fit at him."

Clare mimicked what Tony assumed was the girls' mother. "Tony!" she yelled, and brought her fist down on the counter. "How many times do I have to tell you to stay out of the kitchen? You're buying me a new floor!"

Tony smiled as he finally found something about the girls' upbringing that he would relate to. Aside from their father's drinking. "Wow. He burnt down our kitchen when I was a kid. I wonder how many other kitchens he's destroyed."

"How did he burn yours down?" Ziva asked.

"Left a tea towel too close to the gas stove. Tea towel caught fire, curtains caught fire, wall caught fire, ceiling caught fire." His eyes drifted as he tried to recall the circumstances. "I think he was trying to make popcorn."

His sisters squealed in unison and then both started laughing as if Tony has said the magic word. Tony and Ziva looked at each other cluelessly, and as they waited for the girls to calm he passed her a cold bottle of water from the fridge. She mouthed her thanks and returned to the ground beef she was working on.

"It's popcorn!" Lina finally gasped. "It's his kryptonite."

Clare held up four fingers at Tony. "He's killed four microwaves trying to make popcorn."

"And that popcorn maker that we got him for Father's Day," Lina added. "How do you break a popcorn making machine while making popcorn, which is the machine's _sole reason for existence?_"

"That's gotta be some kind of weird comment on his personality," Clare said. "You know, like if you always dream about falling it means you're, like, really anxious all the time or whatever."

Lina spun to point the knife at her again, and Tony watched Ziva's hand flinch towards her before she quickly pulled it back.

"Or if you're always nearly having car accidents, it means you're not paying enough attention to something in your life," Lina added.

That one seemed to make more sense to Tony, and he couldn't resist making a dig at Ziva. "Oh, you hear that, Ziva? Lina just said that you don't pay enough attention to something in your life. What do you reckon it is?"

Ziva took her time to look over at him and pretend she hadn't been listening. "Sorry, were you talking to me?"

Tony smiled at her little joke as Lina waved the knife around again.

"Maybe the universe is trying to tell him to eat fresh corn instead of the stuff covered in salt and butter."

Tony watched Ziva eye off the knife again and put his hand out towards Lina, as if talking down a suspect. "Hey, Lina? I'm going to give you some sage words of advice here and recommend that you don't wave knives around near Ziva."

Lina looked down at the knife, and then put it down quickly and looked at Ziva. "Sorry. Are you uncomfortable with knives?"

Ziva opened her mouth to respond, but Tony did it for her.

"No, she loves them. She's best friends with them," he told Lina. "But she's been trained to disarm a man with force in a second flat."

"Oh," Lina said. "How long does it take you to disarm a college girl?"

"Longer," Ziva replied. "I would consider you less of a threat."

"Do federal agents get knife training like they get gun training?" Clare asked, and then mimed throwing a knife across the room. "Or, like, those ninja stars?"

"She knows how to throw those, too," Tony said. "But they don't teach that stuff at American agencies. Well, probably they do at the CIA. But we don't like the CIA and we don't approve of their practices."

Ziva sent him an odd look at his sudden hard line against the CIA, but Clare was already asking Ziva more about her work history.

"So where did you learn it?"

Ziva looked slightly uncomfortable to be talking about her past with the younger, presumably innocent girls, and Tony made a mental note not to say anything else to put her on the spot. But she answered Clare honestly. "Mossad. I was in the Mossad for several years."

"What's that?" Clare asked.

A quick look at Lina told Tony that the older sister had a bit of a clue, but probably not the details.

"Israeli intelligence," Ziva replied vaguely.

It was enough information for Clare. "Cool. When did you come here?"

"Seven years ago," Ziva replied. "As a liaison between Mossad and NCIS. Then I ended up staying for good."

"Because of Tony?" Clare asked.

If she had been within arm's reach, Tony would have wrung her neck. He didn't know whether it was because she was still young enough to get away with it, or whether it was just her personality that allowed her to ask such bold, confronting questions and make them seem like she wasn't actually picking apart your psyche. He had the feeling at dinner the other night that she was a lot more switched on and observant of people than she seemed, and he wondered if she employed the same tactic he often did of making people relaxed enough to talk to you by appearing like you weren't a threat. He thought it was likely, but the thing about trying to employ the tactic on Ziva was that she was already wise to it, and knew how to block your attempts.

Indeed, Ziva did exactly what Tony knew she would do by snorting with derision. "_Despite_ Tony," she corrected, and Tony reckoned he probably could have guessed that she would have said that, too. "He did not like me at first."

"Still don't, very much," Tony muttered, just as she would expect him to.

"But I twisted his arm."

"Literally."

"Yes."

"It's Stockholm Syndrome for me now."

Ziva just smirked at the joke, but Lina turned to look at him in shock and took him to task.

"That's a horrible thing to say!" she told him.

Tony just shrugged, because he knew Ziva wasn't offended. "The truth can be ugly, Lina," he lectured. "But that doesn't mean we should shy away from it."

Lina put her hands on her hips and gave him a stern look, and for a moment she reminded him of Abby. "Say you're sorry," she demanded.

Tony blinked in surprise at how much she was taking the joke to heart. "What?"

Ziva looked over her shoulder at him, smiling at her defender's actions. "Oh, I like these two," she told him.

"She's your partner and she could be dead tomorrow," Lina told him bluntly, and Tony began to get a sense of where it was coming from. "Tell her you're sorry."

He didn't know Lina well, but he doubted that she was usually so highly strung. She was just worried about their dad and stressed out about the circle of life, so he gave her some slack. He'd give Ziva an apology, but he'd save it from getting awkward for Lina's benefit.

"Okay. Ziva, I suppose that it is not the worst thing in the world to spend time with you. And I admit that I often do so willingly. Although perhaps against my better judgment."

"It is because I cook for you," Ziva replied, assisting him in his attempt to gloss over Lina's minor freak out.

"That is a factor," he agreed. "And you are usually a lot of fun to get drunk with. Except for when you get us into bar fights."

That one got Ziva to turn around and face him with one outraged hand on her hip. "_You_ get us into bar fights!" she argued.

Tony smirked and kept his cool. "I think you'll find, sweetcheeks, that when you look back over the dozen or so bar fights we've been in, I've only been responsible for one of them."

"That is a lie," Ziva stated with confidence.

"Do you guys argue like this all the time?" Clare cut in.

"No," Tony replied, simply because he knew Ziva would disagree.

"Yes," she replied predictably.

"It's not arguing," Tony told Clare. "It is spirited debate."

Clare looked at him like that was a lame attempt to spin the truth, but went along with it anyway. "Okay. Then do you usually debate with so much spirit?"

"Definitely," he replied.

"I think it is a DiNozzo thing," Ziva said, stirring the pot as she looked between the three of them.

Tony nodded thoughtfully, as if he was considering her opinion, but then said, "I think it's a David thing."

"Do you have spirited debates with the rest of your team like this?" Lina asked.

"No," Tony and Ziva said in unison, finally agreeing on something.

"Gran and Grandpa used to argue like you guys," Clare said, and then paused briefly to inspect her thumbnail. "Gran told me once that it totally made then hot for each other."

Tony stared at her, too disturbed by the suggestion of geriatrics being hot for each other to worry about leaning over the counter to shut up her little comments aimed at pushing him and Ziva together with a hand over her mouth. Ziva stopped her work on the ground beef to stare at Clare with vague amusement, and Lina, the only other person who knew the people in question, screwed her face up in complete and utter disgust and let out a squeal.

"Oh my _God_, Clare!" she wailed. "That's so gross!"

"No, it's not!" Clare argued. "It's cute! You know, if you don't think about them naked."

Lina clapped her hands over her ears and squealed again. "Oh my God! Shut up, _shut up!_"

Clare smiled with mirth as she made her older sister gag, and Ziva looked at Tony with an eyebrow raised as she pointed between the girls.

"Arguing is a DiNozzo thing," she said firmly.

Tony just smiled at the bait and let it go. She'd keep for now.

* * *

><p>Two hours later Tony left the girls alone with Ziva as he left the room to take a call from Rose. As he passed behind his partner he shot the girls a warning look, reminding them to tone down the Tony loves Ziva talk, and headed into his bedroom for privacy and quiet. When he was gone, Ziva put her finger on the rim of the dish holding the remains of her apple and raspberry tart and pushed it towards the girls.<p>

"Are you sure you would not like a piece?" she asked them. While she and Tony had demolished half the tart between them, both girls had politely refused the dessert but watched them eat with longing eyes.

Clare stared at the tart but then shook her head firmly. "No. We've got a game on Friday night and I'm supposed to lose three pounds."

Ziva swept her eyes over Clare's small but muscular frame. If she was planning on losing weight, Ziva couldn't work out where it would come from. "You are trying to lose three pounds?"

"Five, actually," Clare said. "And I already maxed out today and tomorrow's calories on that moussaka."

Ziva thanked God that she was no longer a teenager. She understood the insane pressure on girls to be thin, but felt that a little gentle disagreement wouldn't go astray. "Clare, you do not need to lose five pounds."

"It's easier to cheer when you're lighter," Clare told her.

Ziva nodded thoughtfully. "Yes, I suppose it is." She didn't want to pressure her more. She barely knew the girl, and she didn't feel as though it was her place to lecture her. But she wanted a compromise. "There are some raspberries left over. Tony will not eat fruit unless it is encased in pastry, so you can finish them off if you would like."

Clare looked towards the kitchen. "Oh, yeah. I'll get those." She pushed back from the dining table and went in search of the lower calorie option.

Ziva looked at Lina. "Will you have some tart?"

Lina twisted her lips as she tried to fight the urge, but caved in. "Just a really thin piece. Thanks."

Ziva cut her a fatter sliver than she was probably after, put it on a plate and passed it over. Lina put her head down to smell the dessert and then let out a little moan of delight before picking some up with her fork and bringing it to her lips. Before she ate it, she closed her eyes and made a promise.

"I will run an extra mile tomorrow," she whispered, and then swallowed the bite of tart.

Clare returned with a container of raspberries in her hand. She watched Lina eat with envy. "Is it good?" she asked, as if she'd be able to taste it through her sister.

Lina moaned again and took another bite. "So good."

Clare shot her another envious look before popping a raspberry in her mouth. "Do you cook for Tony very often?" she asked Ziva.

Ziva shook her head. "Not really. Every now and then."

"Does he cook for you?"

Ziva chuckled. "Very rarely."

"So his cooking skills aren't his best quality?"

"He makes a good tiramisu," she told them.

Lina finished her piece of tart and them pushed the plate far away from her. "That was amazing. Please don't let me have any more."

Clare angled the container of raspberries towards her sister. Lina took two and then waved the container away.

"So, if you're his partner you probably know him pretty well," Lina said.

Ziva nodded. "Yes. I would say that is the case."

"What kind of guy is he?"

Ziva looked between the girls as they watched her back with interest. She recalled Tony saying that he'd found out his sisters had always known about him, and she wondered how much time they'd put in over the years thinking about him and who he was. When she was a child, she and Tali had found out about Ari several months before meeting him. During that time Ziva assigned him dozens of different personalities. He would be cold and uninterested in her, or adore her and show her off to his friends. Perhaps he would have taken her on trips, or told her how impressed he was by her control of her knives, or teased her about boys she admitted to liking. Or perhaps he would have been as obsessively focused on protecting their country as her father had been, and would not have time for her at all unless she was taking orders from him or gathering intelligence that would serve his intentions. Sadly, she had been partly right about that.

Despite the pang in her chest, Ziva smiled. There were no horrible things about Tony that she would have to hide from his sisters. And she was only too pleased to help them understand him if it would bring them together.

She leaned forward on her elbows. "Has Tony told you about Gibbs, our boss?"

The girls shared a brief look, and then Lina shrugged. "Just a little bit. Not really."

"Gibbs has a set of rules to live by," she told them. "Rules that are supposed to make you a better agent, or a better person. We have all taken them to heart, and Tony has started coming up with some of his own rules. His rule number one is to never sit on the sidelines while his guys, his team, are in trouble." She paused. "I cannot think of a better way to sum up the kind of man he is."

The girls smiled as Tony went up in their estimation even more. A happy feeling replaced the pang in Ziva's chest. It was so rare that she got to deliver good news to people, but sitting here and confirming for the girls that their brother was someone who could inspire, protect, teach and help was perhaps the best news she'd been allowed to deliver in a long time.

"He said he had a hero complex," Lina told her.

Ziva chuckled. "Yes. He will joke about that but I do not think it is so much that he wants to be a hero or be labeled as one as much as he is simply compelled to help people. He does not like seeing people suffer. He finds that hard to accept." She shot them a warm smile. "Most of what he does is driven by a desire to give people peace through his work, or to make them happy by making jokes or helping them."

"Does he make you happy?" Clare asked.

Ziva's warm smile became tighter at the question. She had the feeling that it wasn't just an innocent query, but she was not prepared to ask for an explanation. She decided to take the question on face value. "Yes. He talks a lot, and that often irritates me. And he does get us in bar fights quite often. And he makes me watch stupid movies all the time. And he always corrects me when I mix up my words. But he is my closest friend and spending time with him does make me happy."

The girls shared another look, and Ziva definitely detected an undercurrent of something that made her uncomfortable. Why did she suddenly feel guilty and nervous about saying nice things about her partner?

Before she could redirect the conversation to a safer place Tony returned from his bedroom and sent them all a tight smile.

"I just talked to Rose," he said, and held up his phone. "Nonna will come down tomorrow afternoon."

"It has been a while since you have seen her," Ziva said.

"Yeah," Tony sighed, and took his seat beside Ziva before addressing the girls. "Rose said she told her about you both. She's really excited to meet you." He paused s the girls smiled. "She also said that one of the first things Nonna asked was if either of you was close to having kids, so…welcome to the family."

Ziva chuckled as the girls' smiles turned wary. Clare looked at Lina and then pointed at her and, with all the grace and tact of a little sister, blurted out one of Clare's secrets.

"Lina's been dating an older guy for six months! She might have a baby soon."

"Clare!" she cried, and then punched her sister in the thigh.

Clare grabbed her wrist and twisted it, and as the two of them slapped and pinched and poked each other, Tony turned to look at Ziva with one raised eyebrow that screamed his glee at hearing this piece of information. Ziva smiled but shook her head slightly, warning him to go easy on her, and Tony returned a look of innocence that almost made her choke.

He returned his gaze to his sisters. "So, before I start teasing you mercilessly about this and then excuse myself to run a background search on him, when you say 'older', how old are we talking?"

Clare struggled to look up at him while Lina held her in a headlock. "He's a grad student," she rasped, pulling on Lina's arm around her neck. "About 25."

Tony relaxed a little. That was much better than 30. "What's his name?"

"Richard," Clare said.

"Shut up, Clare!" Lina gritted out.

Clare ignored her, even as Lina yanked her closer to her body. "He's an engineering student and he likes jazz music."

"We're not even dating!" Lina cried, and then let her little sister go only to shove her shoulder and then flick her earlobe.

"Ow!" Clare squeaked and grabbed her ear. "Dude, that hurts!"

Lina flicked her hair over her shoulder and regained composure before facing Tony. "We're not dating," she told him calmly. "We're just friends."

"With sex benefits," Clare shot in.

Lina shot her a death glare. Clare just grinned. Tony held up his hand.

"I don't really need to know that part," he told them. "He goes to college with you?"

"Yes," she said. "But I would appreciate it if you didn't tell Dad or Mia. He worries way too much about this stuff."

Tony shrugged an agreement, having no good reason to argue just yet.

Lina nodded and then looked at Clare with a tight smile and narrowed eyes. "How's Brodie?" she asked, putting on a stoner voice.

Clare was clearly not as upset about the airing of her dirty laundry as Lina had been. She shrugged casually as she plucked a squished raspberry out of her hair. "Having an awesome time with Jessica Dumbass Tatum."

Lina's interest in making her sister squirm dropped as she read between the lines. "You guys broke up?"

"Yep."

"When?"

"Like, a month ago."

Lina's expression turned sympathetic. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"Because he's a dick and it doesn't matter," Clare replied, and she almost sounded convincing.

Lina squeezed the hand that just moments ago she'd turned red with her pinches. "Yeah. He really is," she told her.

Clare gave her a small smile of thanks as Tony watched the sudden twists and turns in their relationship with fascination. Something about it just made him regret not being part of their lives growing up even more, and he felt the sudden need to insert himself into the drama.

"Hey, I guess as a brother I'm obliged to turn up on your ex-boyfriends' doorsteps with my gun and scare the crap out of them if you want me to," he said. "So just say the word."

Clare gave him a wider smile and then looked at Ziva. "What was that rule thing of his you told us about? Not sitting on the sidelines…"

"When his guys are in trouble," Ziva finished with a nod.

Tony gave her a quizzical look. "Why were you talking about that?"

"They were asking me what kind of man you are."

He chuckled. "And you think that sums me up?"

Ziva nodded. "Yes," she replied as if it were obvious.

He held her gaze for a moment, and then smiled and looked away.

"You do not think that sums you up?" Ziva asked.

Yeah, he supposed it did. But for some reason having it pointed out right now made him feel far too vulnerable. He covered by giving her a smile dripping with charm. "I probably would have said something about my good looks and humanitarian work making me akin to the NCIS version of George Clooney or—"

"What humanitarian work?" Ziva demanded.

He played embarrassed. "Ziva, I don't like to talk about it myself. It would be so crass."

Ziva muttered something under her breath that he chose to ignore. He returned his attention to Lina and Clare.

"You should prepare yourself for Nonna," he said. "She's really old and believes she has earned the right to say whatever she wants and ask whatever she wants. The filter between her brain and her mouth disappeared about 50 years ago. And if you thought Rose and Louisa were dramatic? You ain't seen nothin' yet."

"That sounds like fun," Clare said. "I like people who are just honest and don't give a crap."

"I'm getting that feeling about you, yeah," Tony told her.

"I can't wait to meet her," Lina said. "Have you met her before, Ziva?"

Ziva shook her head, surprised that Lina might have thought that she had. "No."

"Then you'll meet her too."

Ziva smiled politely. She liked the idea of meeting Tony's grandmother, but the last thing she wanted to do right now was intrude on DiNozzo family time. "Yes, perhaps."

The idea of his grandmother being left alone with Ziva made Tony almost lightheaded with panic. Although Rose hadn't said anything, he had no doubt that she would have told her mother all about the beautiful woman who worked by Tony's side every day, and of her gut instinct about the nature of Tony's feelings for her. He wasn't sure if his nonna would like Ziva, but he did know that she was acutely aware that he was in his forties and single. He thought it was possible that she'd advise him to marry her right away, even if someone told her they'd heard Ziva was a drug-addicted arsonist with a gambling debt and eight kids. He devoted a few moments' thought to how he would keep the two parts of his life separate after Ziva and the girls left each other tonight, and how he could convince his sisters not to talk too much about the night with his aunts. He calculated the odds of his success at that to be somewhere in the realm of 1000-1.

He lifted his hand to press against his temple as his head started to throb in the same spot it had when his aunts had arrived. Was it possible to develop a brain tumor from sudden and intense periods of stress alone, he wondered?

"Headache?"

Tony looked up at Ziva but shook his head at her concerned face. "No. I'm fine."

The look in Ziva's eyes suggested that she didn't buy it, but she didn't question him further. One thing he'd always appreciated about Ziva was that she always knew when he really didn't want to talk about something, and respected his right to silence. He just hoped that when she met the rest of his family—and Jesus, he may as well resign himself to the fact that would happen now and start preparing for it—she would employ the same level of discretion, acceptance and forgiveness. Because he had the feeling that once the family circus had passed and the dust had finally settled, he'd have a whole lot of explaining to do.


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N: I hesitate to post now so soon after the last chapter because I don't want to give you false hope that I'll lift my posting game on this one. But here you go anyway.  
>Disclaimer: Disclaimed.<strong>

* * *

><p>The next afternoon Tony left the girls and Louisa at the hospital with Anthony and took Rose with him to the airport. If he thought the family circus was already in town, he knew it was only going to get more manic as soon as his 91-year-old hurricane of a grandmother stepped off the plane and started running the show. He didn't speak to her much these days—saw her even less—but from what Rose had said about her mother's up-and-go lifestyle it sounded like she didn't buy into the concept of taking it easy in her twilight years. He'd been surprised to learn that she'd recently taken up aqua aerobics and tai chi to complement the twice-weekly dance classes she'd been taking for the last 30 years. Somehow she fit it all in around her daily trips to the nursing home to visit patients up to 20 years younger than her to gossip, play card games and boss the orderlies around. Tony bet that she couldn't wait to get in and see her son and start telling his doctors exactly what they were doing wrong.<p>

Tony and Rose arrived at the airport with plenty of time to spare before his nonna's plane was scheduled to arrive. He led Rose to the coffee shop with the most comfortable chairs and they settled down with coffees and a Danish to share while they waited.

"He seemed to be doing well this morning," Rose said to him.

Tony nodded and threw her a knowing smile. "That's because he knows Nonna's about to come in and raise hell. The sooner he can convince her that he's fine, the sooner she'll stop lecturing him about his vices and annoying him."

Rose swirled a teaspoon through the milk froth of her coffee, and then said what Tony was sure pained her to admit. "I think he is treating himself a little better these days. He's been sober for a while now."

"I know," Tony said. "He should be proud of himself."

Rose eyed him. "Are you?"

Tony swallowed and breathed through the spike in his emotion. "Yeah. It can't have been easy for him to get through."

"Is that all you have to say?"

Tony stared at her, trying to work out what she was getting at before going on the defensive. "What am I supposed to say? He drank away 30 years and he's finally got a handle on it. Of course I'm proud of him."

Rose shook her head. "I know, _tesoro_. But aren't you angry at him?"

Tony frowned at her. "Wait, are you trying to pit us against each other or something? Is there some inheritance you think I'm going to get if he dies, unless we're at each other's throats and then my cut transfers to you or…?"

Rose looked at him as if he was insane. "What on earth are you talking about?"

"I'm trying to find a motive—"

Rose cut him off by wagging a finger in his face. "No motive!" she said firmly. "I'm not one of your crooks."

Tony rolled his eyes at himself and how quick he'd been to look for the worst in her. "Sorry."

"You've been a cop too long if you think everyone's always out to screw everyone else," Rose said.

Tony sighed. Yes, he supposed he had. But he wouldn't think that if there wasn't a kernel of truth to it. "Sorry," he said again. "I just wonder why you want me to be angry."

"It's not that I want you to be," Rose told him. "But I think you have reason to be. And yet you never say a word against him. You always take his crap in stride and measure your response." She leaned forward and laid her small, soft hand over his. "It's okay to be mad at your parents, _tesoro_. Sometimes it's even healthy for the mind and soul. Especially when they've made some of the huge mistakes that your father has."

He knew what she was saying, but he had to chuckle. "So you'd be okay if your kids got mad at you for screwing up?"

"No," Rose said without missing a beat. "Because I do not screw up."

"I see."

"Because I am perfect," Rose continued with the barest of smiles. "Anthony and Louisa, though? Oh, honey. They mess up everything they do."

Tony smiled for her, if only because he knew she wasn't serious. "You are your mother's daughter, you know that?"

Rose narrowed her eyes at him. "I am nothing like my mother," she insisted.

Tony fought the urge to snort, roll his eyes and start pointing out the hundred ways in which she was wrong about that. In his experience he'd found that women often hated being compared with their mothers. Even if it was meant as a compliment, a statement to the effect was usually met with the same glare and icy response as he'd just received from Rose. Tony didn't always understand it, but conceded that he sure as hell wouldn't like to be told that he was so much like his father.

"Right," he said, and quickly moved away from the topic. "You want to know why I'm not angry with him?"

"Yes."

Tony shrugged and tried to pass off some of the deep thoughts he'd been having in the last few days as no big deal. He'd already unloaded some of it on Ziva, so the pressure had been released just enough for him to now cope with it in an outwardly serene manner. "I am angry," he admitted with an even voice. "But I just don't see the point in turning it into a Kardashian drama."

Rose nodded along until the pop culture reference, and then looked at him with her lips pursed. "Is that the young girl with the butt?"

"Yeah."

"I think she needs to wear less make up," Rose told him, letting herself get carried away on the tangent. "Girls today, they paste it on like a mask and you can't see their pretty faces. And it clogs all their pores, _tesoro_. All those layers will end up ruining their skin and by the time they're my age they'll look like those wrinkly dogs with the jowls. And then what? Surgery? A lady doesn't need surgery, Tony. She should age gracefully. Of course, I don't think these girls with the orange skin and big hair and skirts that are really just wide belts are terribly concerned with being ladies. They want to look like whores because they think if a drunken, tattooed frat boy wants to bed them then it means they're better than everyone else. Honestly, I don't understand these silly children."

Tony listened to her rant, nodding every now and then. He wondered if it meant he was getting properly old when he found himself kind of agreeing with her instead of sticking up for a college girl's right to wear belt-sized skirts and hit on drunk frat boys.

"I'm so relieved that Lina and Clare aren't like that," Rose went on, dropping her voice for privacy. "Clare might still go that way, but it's a relief that she seems to understand that it's not necessary to bare your midriff at every opportunity. And they don't need all that makeup that other girls wear. They're both so beautiful without it, don't you think?"

Tony snapped out of his nodding funk to answer the question. "Yes. Very beautiful."

Rose nodded with pride, and then stopped and frowned. "What were we talking about?"

Tony held back another eye roll. "I was explaining why I was taking the high road with Dad."

Rose snapped her fingers. "Right. Well, my love, if you want to do that then I applaud you. But I also think that it might be cathartic to just let it all out and scream at him if you have to. I worry about you taking on everyone else's problems and what it does to your insides. You might get a stomach ulcer if you don't let everything out. That's what happened to Mrs Willoughby, my business manager. She got so upset about how the office was being run at the inn, and on top of it her son, Daniel, ran out on his wife with some little chippie he met on their cruise to the Bahamas. They had an 18-month-old son, and he just left. Can you imagine?" She paused. "How's your stomach?"

"It's fine."

"Okay." She reached over to squeeze his hand again. "If you ever need to scream about him but can't make yourself do it to his face, just give me a call. Okay?"

Tony smiled his thanks and felt a pang of love for her, even if he knew he would never take her up on the offer. "Okay."

Satisfied that she'd performed her aunt duties, Rose picked up her coffee cup, took a demure sip, and then barreled straight into mother duties. "So, Lina and Clare told me they met Ziva last night."

Tony put his coffee down with a thud and groaned loudly and pointedly at his aunt. But Rose ignored his protest.

"They liked her a lot," she told him. "They said she was very beautiful and funny and charming and that you seemed very fond of each other."

This time Tony let go of the epic eye roll he felt coming. "Really? Those young girls used the words 'charming' and 'fond', did they?"

Rose waved her hand dismissively. "I am paraphrasing. They said she cooked and then said nice things about you behind your back."

Tony had to wonder what the nice things were, but he wasn't in the mood to ask and indulge Rose's wedding fantasies. "That makes a change from the usual," he said. "Maybe she knows something about my health."

Rose watched him with knowing eyes that made him squirm. "Maybe she knows she's very fond of you and doesn't mind if other people know it."

"Or maybe you shouldn't try to analyze the thought processes of someone you've never met," he gently reprimanded.

"Then I will wait until I have met her," Rose replied. "Which you said would happen. Tonight, perhaps?"

Tony sighed as that damn ache in his temple started up again. "No, not tonight. It's Nonna's first night here and I'd love to spend some time with her."

Rose snorted at his weak attempt at distraction. "Oh, I'm sure," she said sarcastically.

He feigned offence. "You don't think I want to see my grandmother?"

"I think you want to see her and talk about the things you want to talk about, and then kiss her on the cheek and run off before she can start grilling you about your life."

"There might be some truth to that," Tony mumbled.

"You really think you'll get away with that?"

"Probably not," he admitted. "But I'm willing to give it a shot."

"When was the last time you saw her?" Rose asked.

Tony's eyes went heavenwards as he tried to remember. "I spoke to her at Christmas, but I don't think I've laid eyes on her in the flesh for about eight years."

"You're going to hell," Rose told him bluntly.

"It's not my fault!" Tony argued. "I don't get to take vacations very often and she doesn't live nearby."

Rose gave him the stink eye and then softened her attempt to guilt him. "She's going to want to talk to you for hours," Rose told him. "When I spoke to her last night and said you were with us she started to cry. She misses you terribly." She paused and looked at him with more affection that he'd seen from anyone in a long time. "We all do."

Tony smiled at her and made a comment before he felt the urge to cry himself. "I miss you too," he said, and then added, "Except for when you get a little too intense about my relationship status."

Rose took the information with a chuckle and then shook her head with affection and pity. "Oh, my handsome, sweet, utterly clueless child," she said fondly. "You think I have been intense? You haven't seen anything yet."

* * *

><p>When his grandmother hugged him, Tony felt like he was hugging a fence post. Imelda Angela Donatella DiNozzo was barely over five feet tall and little more than a skeleton. If she weighed more than 80 pounds he'd be surprised, and he suspected that about 20 of those pounds would be attributed to her jewelry. Her ribs poked into his stomach as she squeezed him as tight as she could, but Tony felt nervous about giving her anything more than the lightest of touches back for fear of snapping her in two. He rubbed her back gently and tried not to think about how much she'd aged in the last eight years. Even if she was still full of life and energy, the visual reminder of her slide towards her centenary was striking. When she pulled back from the hug she reached up to hold his face between two unbearably soft and thin hands. Tony stooped so that she didn't have to reach as far, and smiled at the familiar blue eyes that had dimmed only slightly with age.<p>

"Well," she began. "Look at you, _tesoro_. Aren't you just the cat's pajamas?"

Tony couldn't help laughing before leaning in to press a kiss to the soft, paper-thin skin of her cheek. "It's good to see you, Nonna."

"Alive?" she asked. "Yes, I dare say it is. I am surprised every morning when I look in the mirror." She patted his cheeks and turned to her daughter. "He grew up, didn't he?"

Rose held on to her mother's arm and gently steered her towards the exit. "They do that when you're not looking," Rose told her. "Are you okay to walk? You're not too tired?"

"I've been sitting down for two hours," Imelda replied. "My derriere is sore. And I missed tai chi this morning so I'm feeling stiff. I need a walk."

Tony shouldered her bag and fell into line beside her as they made their way down the concourse. "Let me know if you need a piggy back ride," he told her.

Imelda threw her head back and laughed. "That sounds like fun. Hey, you want to play a joke on your dad? Carry me into his hospital room and we'll tell him I cracked my hip when I was running for the plane. It'll scare the holy ghost out of him."

"Mamma," Rose gently admonished. "He's had a heart attack. Go easy on him."

"He had a heart attack because he's an idiot," Imelda declared, and then reached for Tony's hand. "Sorry, my love. I don't mean to speak ill of your father, but for heaven's sake, we all saw this coming." She shook her head. "Men are so stupid about their health."

"I know," Rose sighed.

It was the same declaration that Rose and Louisa had made a few days ago in this very airport, and Tony made a mental note to have a look at his diet and exercise regime. He didn't want them to be muttering about him in the same way.

"How is he?" Imelda asked. "You said he had an operation yesterday?"

"They put in a little tube to open up his clogged vein," Rose recapped. "He was doing well this morning."

"Is he up for an ass kicking?"

"Of course."

"And he'll get one," Imelda muttered. "Three kids!" She looked at Tony. "Three kids, can you believe that?"

Tony shook his head. "It was a surprise," he admitted. "But they're three _good_ kids, so at least he gets points for that."

"Three kids," Imelda repeated. "And he kept them a secret. What a little shit."

Tony recycled some of the advice Ziva had given him the other night. "Yeah, he screwed up on that. But look at it this way; now you've got three more grandkids to love and fawn over in the future. And one of them's a _baby_, Nonna. A baby. Think of all the bragging you'll get to do to the nursing home patients when you visit them."

Imelda's face slid into a smile of utter joy. "Oh, I know. I can't wait to rub their faces in the photos. Especially Esme's, that arrogant little so-and-so. She thinks she's so good because her granddaughter had twins. Like she was responsible for it." She took Tony's hand again and lowered her voice. "They're not even good looking babies. I think one of them has those eyebrows that meet in the middle."

Tony shared a look over his Nonna's head with Rose that was halfway appalled and halfway amused.

"All babies are beautiful," Rose told her diplomatically.

"Rubbish," Imelda said. "Most of them are pretty ugly. Especially when they first come out and they haven't filled out yet. I remember when I got my first look at Anthony. He was all red and squished up and I thought he was an alien. It was the first newborn I'd seen." She paused and thought back. "No one prepares you for that."

"Don't worry, Mamma," Rose said patiently. "Josie's beautiful. I promise."

"Who is Josie?"

"Anthony's baby girl."

"Oh! Well, good." She winked at Tony. "What about the other two?"

"Lina and Clare," Tony supplied.

"They're also gorgeous," Rose told her. "Lina looks so much like Tony, Mamma. She could pass for his daughter."

"She's too old to be my daughter," Tony felt the need to shoot in.

"No, she's not," Rose told him.

Imelda paused to look up to Tony with alarm. "Have you got a daughter, Tony? Why didn't you tell me? Why is everyone having kids and not telling me?"

Tony shook his head firmly. "I don't have kids, Nonna."

She changed her tune immediately. "Well, why the hell not? What's the matter with you?"

"Nothing."

"You don't want them?"

He hesitated. "I don't know," he said.

Both women reacted as if he'd just told them he was thinking of having a sex change. They both gasped and stared at him in horror, and Rose held on to her mother when it looked like she might trip. He quickly backpedaled.

"I mean, I don't know _when_," he told them. "Of course I'll have them."

Imelda looked him up and down warily, and then shot him a peevish look. "You're not getting any younger, you know. You should work on that as soon as you can."

"Okay, sure," Tony sighed, and then ended the conversation when he gestured at the automatic doors leading out of the airport. "Hey, why don't you wait by the curb and I'll go get the car? Then we can go see Dad and you can give him a piece of your mind."

"Thank you, _tesoro_," Imelda said as Tony rushed away. He thought he was home free until he was about to step foot outside and she called out, "And on the way you can tell me all about this girl who Rose says you're in love with."

The statement sent a bolt of panic through him, and Tony decided to deal with it by simply ignoring his grandmother as if he hadn't heard her and then speed walking out the door. His behavior might send him to hell, but God, right now he needed the fresh air.

* * *

><p>They were barely out of the airport and on the expressway before Imelda showed that she was still the most stubborn of the DiNozzo clan and started in on him again.<p>

"So why don't you know when you'll settle down?" she asked. "I'm not clear on why it hasn't happened for you yet. Look at you! You're so handsome you could be in the movies. And you're so smart and so sweet. Everyone loves you, don't they? Surely women are always inviting you places. They do that these days, don't they? Women asking men on dates?"

"Yeah," Tony said.

Imelda nodded and then put her hand on her chest as a thought occurred to her. "Unless…" she paused and then lowered her voice a little. "Are you one of the gays?"

Tony couldn't help rolling his eyes. "Oh, God," he sighed.

Imelda put her hand on his arm. "It's all right if you are, sweetheart," she told him. "I just want you to be happy. I don't care if you find that in another man."

He had to laugh, but quickly set her straight. "I'm not gay, Nonna."

"Then why haven't you settled down?"

"I don't have time for any of that," he told her. He could hear how whiny his voice sounded and he hated it. Usually he had far more control over himself and was more adept at handling his emotions. Like he'd explained to Clare the day before, the skill was necessary to allow him to do his work every day and not screw up, let people down and end up feeling the urge to shoot himself in the head. He thought he'd been doing pretty well at being outwardly in command of his stress, but now wondered if Nonna was his tipping point. He could withstand attacks on his sanity by Rose, Louisa, Lina, Clare _and_ his father. But the addition of a 91-year-old with a stronger opinion about the way things should be than all the others combined would be his downfall.

Geez, he always thought Gibbs was difficult to manage. But he had no doubt that his nonna would eat the ex-Marine for breakfast. The thought gave him a moment's source of amusement before she started wearing him down again.

"If you think you don't have time for any of that, then I think your priorities are messed up," Imelda said.

Tony took a slow breath before replying. "Nonna, I love my job. I'm pretty good at it, too. I make it a priority because I think it's important."

"It is, _tesoro_. I couldn't be more proud of your commitment to other people." She paused, and he knew that as kind as those words had been, he was about to get slammed by what followed. "But I think it would be nice if you could commit to a wife and some babies. Plenty of men who do what you do can find the time, so I don't understand why you can't. Particularly since you've always been so good at multi-tasking." She turned her attention to her daughter. "Remember when Tony was a boy, Rose? And he used to organize all the games between your kids, teach the younger ones how to play properly and still stay right in the middle of the game himself?"

"I have no recollection of that," Tony sighed.

"I do," Rose said. "But I don't think he was multi-tasking. I think he's just a natural leader. That's why he was such a good point guard."

"I don't know what that means, but I will take your word for it," Imelda said, and then went silent for a few moments. "I can't remember what we were talking about."

"NBA playoffs," Tony told her.

"Tony!" Rose admonished, and then addressed her mother. "You were saying that you thought Tony should put a little more effort into making family life a priority."

Tony shot Rose a scowl in the rear-view mirror as Imelda clapped her hands together.

"Ah! Of course. My darling child, I've heard that you are enamored of a particular woman."

"You've been misinformed," Tony told her.

"Rose, he says I'm misinformed."

"You're not misinformed," Rose said. "He's being stubborn."

"I'm not stubborn!"

"Then he's scared."

"I'm not scared," Tony argued, less forcefully this time.

"He works with her, Mamma," Rose said. "He's probably worried that it'd be a scandal."

"She is with the police?" Imelda asked Tony.

Tony bit his tongue as he tried to work out how to play this. If he said yes, he'd be confirming that there was indeed a woman in the picture. If he said no, it would be a lie. And if he kept arguing that Ziva was just a friend and co-worker, then he could expect that his nonna, aunts and sisters would keep arguing right back until they completely eroded his position. There was no winning this.

He took another slow breath before providing a measured response. "The woman Rose is referring to is a co-worker. She is a federal agent. And I might point out that Rose has never met her, and has been repeatedly and consistently informed that we are not romantically involved."

"You sound like you're being cross-examined," Rose said.

"Because I _am_ being cross-examined," he replied, barely managing not to snap at her.

"I can't wait to meet her anyway," Rose said. "Mamma, Tony said he's going to introduce us to her."

"Excellent," Imelda said, and Tony could have sworn it was an impersonation of evil Mr Burns. "Tell me about her."

Tony cut his eyes in her direction and made a Herculean effort not to tell her to shut the hell up about it. He cleared his throat. "She is a federal agent," he said tonelessly.

"Something I _don't_ know," Imelda spelled out. "I know I'm due to dine with the Grim Reaper soon, _tesoro_, but my memory extends more that five seconds. What is her name?"

"Zena," Rose said. "Beautiful woman, Mamma. Wait until you see her."

"It's _Ziva_," Tony corrected.

"German? Yugoslavian?"

Tony frowned. He hadn't heard those guesses before. "No. Israeli."

"Interesting," Imelda said. "Jewish?"

"Yes."

"Kids?"

"No."

"Divorced?"

"No."

"Your age?"

"A bit younger."

"Good," Imelda said, although Tony couldn't immediately work out why that pleased her so much. "I'm looking forward to meeting her. When is that happening?"

"I don't know."

"We should have dinner," Imelda said. "Rose, can we cook at this place we are staying?"

"Yes, and we have a full table," Rose said. "Tony, bring her over tonight and we'll cook a proper meal."

Tony shook his head. "No, not tonight. Another night." He didn't know why he was agreeing, but if he put it off long enough they might all have gone home before he allowed the meeting to happen.

"Another night," Imelda repeated. "But when do I get to meet Anthony's other kids?"

"We're going to meet them now," Tony told her. "They'll be at the hospital with Dad."

Imelda eyed him. "Are you sure they're his?"

Tony frowned at the question and then shrugged. "I don't know. I haven't organized a DNA test to confirm, but I reckon it's pretty likely."

"Remember I told you Lina looks like Tony?" Rose shot in.

Imelda held her hand up in defense. "Okay, okay. I'm just checking. I am sure they're wonderful girls, but you can't blame a mother for wishing that her son wasn't such a devious little shit."

Tony couldn't blame her at all. But he still found himself trying to defend his father for reasons he still didn't understand. "He's had a lot of problems, Nonna," he said. "And he hasn't made the best choices. But he's making an effort to build bridges now."

The comment was met with silence, and Tony turned to look at his grandmother. She was looking back at him with a soft smile and pride in her blue eyes, and then reached over to pat his arm again. "You're a good boy, Tony."

Tony gave her a quick smile back but returned his gaze to the road without further comment. He knew her intention was to praise him, but it honestly just made him feel guilty. Because although he was encouraging other members of his family to build a bridge and reconnect with Anthony, Tony still didn't have any intention of following through on that long term himself.

* * *

><p>Tony didn't stay around to witness the Mother vs Son Beat Down when they got to the hospital. After his nonna had been introduced to Lina and Clare, and then Mia and Josie, he had quietly slipped away and headed for the peace and quiet of the courtyard he'd joined Clare in the day before. His stress levels were spiraling out of control as he struggled to stay calm, polite and level-headed, and he thought it was about time that he got a dose of his real life to calm him down. He considered calling Ziva, but he felt like he'd been relying on her a little too much in the last few days and he didn't want to keep bugging her. And if she was at her desk, she probably wouldn't be able to talk much anyway. So when he pulled out his cell phone it was Abby's number that he navigated to. If it was a low-stress conversation with someone who would focus on lifting his mood that he wanted, Abby was his girl.<p>

"Forensics lab," Abby chirped a moment later. "You are speaking with Abby Sciuto."

Tony smiled. "Hey, Abs. How're you doing?"

"Tony!" she exclaimed in the same tone of voice that kids usually reserved for 'Santa!' "I'm so happy to hear from you. I feel like I haven't talked to you in months."

"A few days apart are as hard as eternity, huh?" he said.

"Agony," she agreed. "How's your dad doing?"

Tony looked at his feet and figured he may as well get the dad part of the conversation over and done with. "He'd good. They put a stent in yesterday and have been monitoring him today. They reckon he's doing a lot better, so he might get to go home tomorrow."

"Tony, that's great!" Abby said. "He must be relieved."

"Yeah, I guess," Tony replied, and it occurred to him that he hadn't actually asked Anthony about that. "He's definitely feeling better. He's not as surly."

"Poor guy," Abby commiserated, but Tony frowned at her empathy. She was supposed to be on _his_ side.

"He'll be okay," he said dismissively.

"Ziva said she met your sisters," Abby went on.

"Yeah."

"She said they're pretty awesome."

Tony nodded. "Yeah. They are."

"She said that Lina looks just like you."

He nodded again and felt a smile tug at the corner of his mouth. "Yeah. Minus about 80 pounds and with much better hair."

"That's pretty cool," Abby offered.

"Yeah." He paused. "Lina's really interested in chemistry and all that science stuff. I thought I might bring her in to meet you and you could talk to her about careers and stuff."

Abby gasped. "Oh my God! I would _love_ to," she said. "Thank you so much, Tony."

He frowned quizzically. "Why are you thanking me?"

"For wanting to introduce us," Abby said. "For being willing to bring your families together. That's so important, you know? If you're going to continue to have a relationship with them—and why wouldn't you?—they need to understand your job and we need to understand your family. Your blood family, I mean. Because we're your family too. Just not your DNA family. But we love just as much. I'd give you my kidney, Tony. That's how much I love you. And I know I'll love your sisters just as much."

Tony rubbed his chin as he listened to Abby's speech, and his smile grew as the warmth of affection spread through his chest. He might just be discovering his blood siblings, but he hadn't been an only child for ten years now. Not since he met Abby. "I'd give you a kidney too, Abs. Promise."

"Aww," she said, as if he'd been the one to come up with the touching promise. "When do you want to bring her in?"

"I'm not sure," he told her. "We'll see how Dad is doing tomorrow. My aunts and nonna are here now, so there's plenty of people to keep him company."

"Wow, the whole family's in town," Abby said. "Are they all staying with you?"

"None of them are staying with me, thank God," he added with a grimace. "They're all at The Dorchester."

Abby whistled. "Swanky."

He chuckled. "The DiNozzos are old money, don't you know?"

"I'd forgotten," Abby said. "But now I remember the urge I had to marry you back in the day."

Tony laughed out loud, and then groaned. "Don't start throwing around the 'M' word," he begged. "I've heard it enough this week."

"Who's getting married?" Abby wanted to know.

"No one," he replied. "Especially not me. And that's the problem." He scanned the courtyard for members of his family who might bare witness to the conversation. Finding none, he went on. "You share my Italian Catholic heritage, Ms Sciuto."

"I do."

"So you're probably familiar with well-meaning relatives' obsession with seeing everyone married off and spawning?"

Abby chuckled. "Sure. But my parents, in addition to being Italian Catholics, are also hippies. They're more interested with me being a free spirit than hitching myself to any ol' wagon."

"God bless the hippies," he said. "So, I was actually calling for a dose of my normal life to distract me from the craziness of feuding family. What are you up to?"

"Preparing the lab," Abby said. "We caught a new case this morning. Gibbs and his Tony-less Gibblets went out to Virginia five hours ago. It's a stabbing or something."

"Not 'or something'," Gibbs said from behind her as he swept into the room. "There was definitely a blade involved."

Abby brightened at the sight of him and hit the speakerphone button. "Gibbs, Gibbs!" she cried. "I'm talking to Tony. Say hi!"

"How's it all going, DiNozzo?"

Tony smiled at the familiar, gruff voice over the line. "Oh, hey, boss! Just taking a little break from listening to my grandmother chew out my dad."

"Uh-huh," Gibbs grunted. "He doing better?"

"Yeah. They might release him tomorrow."

"You doing better?"

Tony paused. He knew Gibbs cared about them all, but he usually did so from afar and without saying a word. He was always taken aback when the bossman actually voiced his concerns. "Uh, yeah," said tightly. "All is well in Special Agent DiNozzo Land. No need to worry."

"His aunts and nonna are driving him crazy," Abby told Gibbs. "They want him married and having babies."

Tony's shoulders sagged and he turned his face up to the sky in defeat. Great, so now _everyone_ in his life was going to bug him about that.

"You could do worse things with your life," Gibbs replied.

Despite his intense desire to not talk about it with Gibbs, Tony couldn't help his snort and derisive comment. "Yeah, well, DiNozzo men aren't exactly champions of the nuclear family, boss."

There was a pause over the line, and when Gibbs spoke again Tony was surprised by how serious and frankly empathetic his voice was. "Hey, you think that you're dad's any different to you?"

Tony blinked at the gentle rebuke. "Uh, yeah, Gibbs," he said obviously. "I would sure as hell hope that people don't see us as peas in a pod."

But Gibbs didn't drop it. "You think that becoming a father suddenly makes you infallible?" he challenged. "You think that as soon as you have a kid you suddenly become the guy with all the answers and wisdom to predict your mistakes? You don't. You're the same guy you were before you held your kid for the first time. Except now you got a little person depending on you to be perfect so that you don't mess up their life."

Tony's heart pounded and his eyes stung at the scolding from the man who was his father by choice, not birth. He wanted to yell back at him about the years of neglect he'd suffered through. All the crap he'd put up with. The uselessness of trying to save a relationship when you were the only one who seemed to care. He wanted to ask Gibbs if he would have ever considered abandoning Kelly if she'd survived when Shannon didn't, and how he could possibly defend another man who would choose whiskey over his kid. He wanted to know if Gibbs thought it was fair that Anthony had given up, let Tony go, and then started a new, better, easier family elsewhere that he'd been determined to keep his son out of. And yet, he didn't, because even with all the pain and anger and disappointment of 30 years coming to the surface, he could still see that Gibbs had a point. Anthony might have been his father, but he was also just a guy. A guy who lost the love of his life and didn't have a clue how to deal with it. Just like any of the guys they came across in their cases who lost a loved one and did something stupid in response. It happened every day. Because no one knew how to predict their mistakes, and no one knew how to be perfect. They were all just flawed humans. Nothing more, nothing less.

He took a deep breath, swallowed down the tightness in his throat and nodded at the ground. "Yeah," he barely whispered. "I guess you're right."

"It don't mean you still can't be angry at him," Gibbs added.

Tony heard himself chuckle. "Yeah. Don't worry. I am."

"Hang in there, kid," Gibbs told him.

"Yeah."

"I need Abby," he said, switching focus and stepping back into his boss shoes.

"Sure," Tony said quickly. "Heard you picked up a case. Call me if you need anything, yeah?"

"Focus on your family," Gibbs told him.

"Gotta go, Tony!" Abby cut in. "I miss you! Talk to you later."

"I miss—" Tony began, but he was talking to dead air before he could finish. "You too," he said as he hung up his phone.

As he slipped it back into his pocket, Tony felt another little pang of guilt. Because he really did miss Abby. And Gibbs and McGee and Ziva. As much as he loved his extended family of aunts and his grandmother, he just didn't feel as connected to them as the family he'd cobbled together over the ten years he'd spent between the orange walls of the bullpen. He hadn't seen his blood family in years, and yet he hadn't missed them for even a day. But after just a few days away from his colleagues he felt the need to reconnect. Did that make him a bad person? To have chosen the family he wanted instead of the one he was born to? Was he lazy and neglectful to just say that he didn't have time for the people he didn't see every day out of consequence? Or should he be making more of an effort to rejoin his family? He couldn't do it at the expense of his team—they were his priority, period—but maybe he should think of how to blend them a little so that he'd have time for everyone. Well, not _everyone_. He still didn't find himself that bothered over Anthony, despite Gibbs' words. But he definitely had to make time for his sisters. Introducing them to Ziva was step one, and taking Lina to talk to Abby was step two. Now he just had the small task of working out the rest.


	10. Chapter 10

**A/N: Still going. Still got a few chapters to go. Give me a few months and I might get all the way to the end.  
>Apologies for the lack of formattinglines between scenes etc here. Since FF 'upgraded' its document manager I actually can't do any formatting within the site at all. Great job, guys!  
>Disclaimer: Disclaimed.<strong>

...

Two days after his nonna had arrived, Tony had realized that dealing with the Mafioso was just like riding a bike. As a teenager he had mastered the skill, but as he'd gotten older and more distanced from the family he hadn't needed to rely on it much. When the Mafioso reappeared in his life he was completely out of practice and their insanity had knocked him on his ass. But after a couple of days of total immersion in their drama he had remembered how to deal with it. Don't fight it (it only makes them stronger), just go along with it (submission avoided emotional, mental and sometimes physical injury), and employ selective hearing (which became easier by the day with Mafioso-induced deafness).

Sometime the previous night—he thought it could have been between his second and third helping of his nonna's cannoli—Tony had realized that while he wasn't exactly feeling comfortable and in control, he no longer felt like stabbing himself. Incessant questioning about his love life had eased up when he started reacting to it with monosyllabic answers and ignored the accompanying pleading, worried and annoyed looks. He reckoned he'd cut their meddling time down to about two hours a day—down from at least four—and he could just about deal with it.

When he picked up Lina and Clare that morning to take them into NCIS, he'd made it clear that if they made one comment while on the grounds of the Navy Yard about him being in love with Ziva, he would take them over to the harbor and push them in. Both girls had crossed their hearts and promised to be on their best behavior. Now as he led them through the security gates in the foyer of the NCIS building, he hoped that they wouldn't give him a reason to distrust them.

As the girls clipped visitor passes to their jackets, Tony caught Clare eyeing off a young Marine standing nearby. He couldn't tell if she thought he was cute or if she was just curious about the people who joined the Corps, but he felt the need to comment anyway.

"Don't look at the Marines with guns for too long," he warned her. "If you look too shifty they'll probably arrest you."

The girls shared a look and small, knowing smiles. It struck him as completely affectionate, as if they had fully expected him to make some stupid comment like that and accepted it as part of who he was, and Tony wondered if that was some kind of sibling bonding moment that they were actually including him in. It brought a ridiculously happy feeling to his chest, and he bit back a smile as they stepped onto the elevator and he hit the button for the lab.

Sandra Bush, one of the agency's lawyers got into the car with them and hit the button for her floor before looking over the girls with a smile and then addressing Tony. "Are these your daughters, Agent DiNozzo?" she asked, and it seemed to Tony as if she took great relish in doing so.

Tony chuckled as if the suggestion that a man of his age would have almost adult daughters, but it was mostly for show. Bush wanted to get a rise out of him—although he couldn't immediately remember why she didn't like him very much—so he played along in his best passive aggressive shoes. "Oh yeah, but these are just the younger two. I got another one who's about to have her own kid. Can't wait to be a grandpa."

Bush seemed surprised by his level of snark, but she didn't tease him anymore. She got off the elevator with a small nod of farewell, and once the doors closed he looked at Lina and Clare. Clare looked amused—figured, she'd probably been rolling her eyes and saying the same thing in her head—but Lina looked pained on his behalf. Tony smiled with self-awareness and jerked his thumb at the door.

"I don't usually talk to people like that," he told them. "I think Rose is rubbing off on me."

"Why are you defending yourself?" Clare asked. "She shouldn't have talked to you like that. She was just being a bitch but disguising it behind non-witty banter. Screw her."

Tony smiled to himself. Man, he _really_ liked Clare. He gave her a grateful look, but Lina wasn't having any of it.

"Clare, you can't just say whatever you want to people," she said on a sigh, and Tony knew without doubt that she'd spoken that sentence hundreds of times before.

Clare crossed her arms and remained defiant. "I quote Cordelia Chase: _Tact is just saying stuff that's not true_. Maybe the world would be a better place if everyone just stopped with the bullshit veneer and didn't entertain other people's precious egos by letting them get away with being assholes."

"Or maybe that would send the world into World War III," Lina rebutted. "You think it'd be better if Obama just told Kim Jong-un that he's a weenie and his dad was a complete nut job?"

"He'd have to get Kim Jong-un to talk to him first," Clare pointed out. "And I'm not talking about political diplomacy. I'm talking about when people put you down and make backhanded comments and then smile and expect that you'll swallow it because it's the polite thing to do."

The elevator stopped on Abby's floor and Tony slinked between the fighting girls to lead them down the hallway. He kind of wanted them to stop arguing, but since it was intelligent debate instead of slapsies over a lost skirt or someone's stupid boyfriend, he decided not to get involved. In fact, he was kind of impressed. The last few fights him and McGee had were over vending machine change, directions and a missing tube of superglue.

"I'm not saying you shouldn't stand up for yourself," Lina was saying. "I just think that you can do that without resorting to putting the other person down too."

"The other person _should_ be put down," Clare said. "Tough love, bitch."

At the threshold to the lad, Lina spun to get up in Clare's face. "Did you just call me bitch?"

Clare sighed and put a calming hand on Lina's shoulder. "No, I meant it as, like, a punctuation mark."

Lina backed off completely. "Oh. Good. Because I was about to mess you up."

Clare looked at her as if that was the most ridiculous thing she'd ever been asked to believe, and Tony decided it was time to step in before they started slapping and pinching each other.

"Okay, no one's messing anyone up. There's no fighting in the lab. It's an occupational health and safety thing." He gestured around at the chemicals in the fridge and various kid unfriendly machines and surfaces. "Someone might accidentally throw hydrochloric acid on someone else and then we'd have a law suit on our hands."

"Sorry," they said in unison.

"Good," Tony said, and then looked around for Abby. "Now, this is usually where we find Abby, but I don't see—"

"YOU!"

Tony jumped and spun around at the angry voice, and after a little weaving around work stations he saw Abby striding towards him with her finger pointed. She was glaring at him as if she could set him alight with just her gaze, and Tony instinctively angled his body between her and the girls.

"Hey, Abs," he said brightly, but with caution. "I missed you. I brought the girls—"

"Where were you last night?" she demanded.

Just like Lina had with Clare a minute ago, Abby got right up in his face and put her hands on her hips. Tony started backing up as Abby kept advancing until his butt hit the workbench behind Abby's command centre and he had nowhere else to go.

"Uh, did we have plans?" he asked slowly as he racked his brains trying to remember. "What was I supposed to do?"

Abby crossed her arms over her chest and scoffed. "Well, geez. You could have paid Ziva a visit."

Tony was usually pretty good at remembering plans with Ziva, and he was sure they hadn't made any for the night before. "Did I have plans with Ziva?" he asked anyway.

Abby blinked at him. "Are you serious?"

He got the impression that she couldn't believe he didn't know. But he honestly didn't. "Yes…" he said at length.

Abby cocked her head to the side to study him, and then he watched her face fall. Her irritation gave way to sympathy and then worry, and Tony didn't like it one bit. "Oh," she said. "You don't know, do you?"

Tony felt dread pour over him. "Know what?" he asked, his voice hardening.

Now Abby started backing up and looking for an exit. "Um…"

He advanced on her, desperate for the important information about his partner. "Abby, what's going on?"

Abby held up a finger and looked around nervously. "You know, you should really get McGee to tell you."

Speak of the devil, the probie chose that moment to walk into the lab. "Tell who what?" he asked, and then looked around at Abby and the flock of DiNozzos.

Abby stepped over to his side and wrapped her hand around his arm. "Um, Tony would like to know about that _thing_ with Ziva last night," she told him with wide eyes, as if that would help him discern the major thing that had happened to her from all the other things that had happened.

McGee looked over at Tony with an expression that suggested that he would definitely _not_ like to fill Tony in. Tony felt his jaw tighten as he advanced on McGee, and McGee held his hands up to calm him down.

"It's okay," McGee said to Tony, and then glared at Abby. "I hadn't worked out how to tell him yet."

"Sorry," Abby whispered.

"Somebody tell me _now_," Tony demanded. He was vaguely aware of Lina and Clare standing together by the back wall and watching the situation unfold, but he was more focused on what the hell might've happened to Ziva than on how he should behave in front of them.

"Well, there was an incident," McGee said.

"Elaborate."

McGee threw another glance at Abby and then laid it out. "We apprehended our suspect last night, but he went down fighting. Ziva found him first and there was a fairly significant fight." McGee paused and looked at Lina and Clare, and then back to Tony with a question in his eyes that asked whether Tony wanted him to continue in their presence. At Tony's nod, he went on. "He cracked her pretty good over the back of the head with a lamp and while she was dazed he…"

When McGee paused again the pain that Tony had been feeling in his temple for the last week came back with a vengeance. He turned his wince into a glare. "He _what_, McGee?" he asked as nightmares filled his head.

McGee looked him in the eye and finally gave it to him as gently as he could. "He tried to choke her. I came in and saw him…He didn't stop when I called out, so I shot him."

Tony didn't hear the gasps from his sisters. The blood rushing through his ears was practically deafening him. "Is he dead?"

"No," McGee said. "One in the shoulder, one in the thigh."

"Good," Tony said with a curt nod. "Where is Ziva?"

"Home today."

Tony let his eyes close for just a moment as he processed that information. If they'd been open, his eyeballs might have popped out of his head with pure frustration. "So she signed herself out of the hospital," he translated.

"Yes," McGee said, and then cut Tony off when he read what was about to come out of his mouth. "Don't pretend like you would have been able to make her stay."

Tony rubbed his head and paced a few steps as he digested it all a little more. His heart was racing with worry, but he also felt sick with guilt. He should have been there. Anthony had spent another night in hospital but it wasn't like Tony could have been with him. And there was no reason that he had to stay with his nonna, aunts or sisters. He was slacking off and eating cannoli when he should have been with his team and watching their backs. As the senior field agent, he'd screwed up by _not_ being in the field.

He felt Abby touch his arm. "Tony," she said gently.

His head popped up and he looked accusingly between her and McGee. "Why didn't anyone call me last night?"

McGee shared a vaguely nervous look with Abby. "Well, because she signed herself out. I figured she was probably going to see you or—"

"You figured?" he cut in. "You didn't drop her at her apartment?"

McGee made a face like he knew Tony wasn't going to like the answer. "She kind of took care of the transportation thing herself."

Tony stared at McGee for a full five seconds as he felt his blood pressure soar. He couldn't believe what he was hearing. "You let her go home by herself after she'd been hospitalized for being hit over the head and choked? Is that what you're telling me?"

"She said she was okay," McGee argued. "And it's Ziva, so she probably _was_ okay. And we were kind of busy with the suspect since…" He trailed off, but Tony heard what he was going to say anyway. And he was sure he was right when Abby nudged McGee to shut up.

Tony swallowed and flexed his jaw. "Since I'm not around," Tony finished for him.

McGee shook his head. "No, that's not what I was going to say," he lied.

Tony let it go for the moment and pulled out his cell phone. He turned his back on everyone and dialed Ziva's number while he heard a collective sigh from behind him as everyone relaxed.

McGee turned a friendly smile on the girls. "Hi, I'm Tim."

"Oh! And I'm Abby! You must be Lina and Clare."

"Hey," the girls said in unison.

"Is Ziva going to be okay?" Lina asked.

"Yeah, she'll be fine," McGee assured her.

Tony turned around and waved his phone at McGee. "She's not answering her phone."

"She can't talk," McGee said.

"Huh?"

"She _can't talk!_" McGee repeated, this time backed up with Abby. They both pointed at their throats and Tony caught on. Ziva had almost been choked, and so probably it hurt to talk.

Tony took that with a deep breath and then started texting her. _Where are you? You better be OK because I'm going to kick your ass._ He hit send and looked up just in tome to see Ziva walk through the door. Her phone beeped with Tony's text message, and she threw him a quick smile before pulling out her phone and checking the message. She looked up again and pointed at Tony with a bigger smile before returning to the message. Her smile faded, and then she bit her lip before turning and heading for the door again.

"Ziva!"

Ziva stopped at the no-nonsense tone in his voice, turned again, and then spotted Lina and Clare. She smiled at them and then headed for their safety. Both girls gave her a hug and a kiss, but looked quite worried.

"Are you okay?" Lina asked.

Ziva waved her hand dismissively. "Sure," she said, her voice so raspy that Tony's throat hurt in sympathy.

He walked over and forced a smile. "Can I talk to you please?"

Ziva shook her head and pointed at her throat as she deliberately misunderstood him. In response, Tony put his hand on her back and started forcibly guiding her towards Abby's office.

"I don't need _you_ to talk," he clarified.

Ziva's shoulders slumped as she let herself be steered to the office. Tony closed and locked the door behind them, and the others watched through the glass as Tony put on his proper angry face and started gesturing wildly. Ziva's expression became more and more indignant at whatever he was saying. The others could hear his voice if not the words, and although Abby tried to lip-read what he was saying she found that he was moving too fast. After no more than 15 seconds Ziva seemed to lose her patience and picked up one of Abby's stress balls shaped like a skull and hurled it at him. Then she picked up another and threw that. And another.

"Seriously, is she going to be okay?" Lina asked Abby and McGee as Tony batted another stress ball away. "Those bruises are pretty bad."

"She'll be fine," McGee said again.

"Yeah, but is Tony going to be okay?" Clare asked, and her tone suggested she already knew the answer.

"No," Abby and McGee said at once.

Lina pointed at the scene in the other room and looked between Abby and McGee. "Me and Clare aren't the only ones who see this, right? Like, he keeps saying it's not happening, but they're basically in love with each other, right?"

"No," McGee said tiredly.

"Yes," Abby corrected, and gave McGee a gentle shot in the arm. "But they keep pretending they're not, so we keep pretending they're not."

"Why are they pretending?" Clare asked.

"You'll have to ask them," Abby said. "But mostly? Gibbs."

"What's—" Lina started, but she cut herself off when Ziva yelled loudly from the other room. They all turned to look as she winced and put her hand to her throat, and Tony's face immediately turned from fury to concern. He stepped closer to her to put his hand on her arm, and talked to her a little more before Ziva leaned closer to him to deliver a calmer rebuttal. They looked at each other for a few long seconds, and then the slump of Tony's shoulders and bowing of his head suggested he'd caved in on whatever exactly they were fighting about. A few more words passed between them, and then they rejoined the others in the lab.

Tony looked self-conscious as he looked around at them, but then deflected the attention. "You get all that, Abs?" he asked.

Abby shook her head. "Actually, no. You were moving around too fast."

"You're supposed to be at home today," McGee said to Ziva.

Ziva sent him a filthy look, as if the suggestion she would take a day off after almost being killed was utterly insulting. McGee held up his hands defensively.

"I'm not fighting with you," he insisted. "But does Gibbs know you're here?"

Ziva looked vaguely guilty.

"He probably sensed it as soon as you drove onto the Yard this morning," Abby said, and then looked at Lina and Clare. "Gibbs is our boss. He's psychic. He always knows when—" She stopped abruptly, stood up straight and rolled her eyes down towards her shoulder. "Is he behind me?"

Everyone else glanced at the empty doorway.

"No," McGee told her.

Abby made a face and then looked for herself. "Huh. That's weird. Usually when I start talking about Gibbs' psychic powers he materializes out of thin air, like, poof! You know? He gets in my head, and I don't know how he does it."

"I just pay attention, Abs," Gibbs said as he swept into the room, Caf-Pow in one hand and coffee in the other. He stopped abruptly at finding at least four more people in the room than he was expecting, but his eyes settled on Ziva.

"See?" Abby was saying to the girls. "He just _knows!_"

Gibbs ignored her in favor of glaring at Ziva. "You're not supposed to be here, David."

"I just wanted to talk to Abby," she rasped.

Gibbs held up his finger around the side of his coffee cup. "Don't talk," he told her.

Ziva pursed her lips and crossed her arms, making her contempt for being told how to handle her own health apparent. Gibbs handed over the Caf-Pow to Abby, then looked between Tony, Lina and Clare. Tony watched his eyes linger on Lina before he returned his gaze to Tony with the hint of a smile. Tony lifted his eyebrows in acknowledgement and then made quick introductions.

"Gibbs, this is Lina and Clare. Girls, this is _el jefe_."

The girls smiled and waved, and Gibbs' smile broke a little wider before he reined it in.

"I'm sorry about your dad," he told them.

"Thanks," Lina said.

Gibbs nodded and then looked at Ziva. "If you're staying, you gotta make yourself useful."

Ziva nodded diligently, and Gibbs gestured for her and McGee to follow him.

"Got some work to do," Gibbs called as he headed for the door. "See you around, DiNozzos."

Abby waved as if she was included, then spun and smiled at Lina. "So. Tony said you're about to graduate with a degree in chemistry."

Lina nodded. "Yeah, I'm almost done."

"That's cool," Abby said. "I speak the language. You want me to take you on a tour of the lab to meet my babies?"

Lina's eyes scanned the room as if expecting to see infants.

"She means her science machines," Tony translated. "The ones that do the spinning and the analyzing and the…thing where you get the animation on the TV." He waved his hand towards the flat screen at the back of the room.

Abby cocked her head to the side and put her hand on her hip. "Is that all you've learnt from me in 12 years? Science machines?"

Tony shrugged. "That and how to bowl the perfect 300."

Abby seemed slightly buoyed by that, and then put a gentle hand on Lina's shoulder. "Come on. I want to show you the ballistics lab first."

As they headed into the back room, Tony rolled one of Abby's chairs over to Clare and took the other for himself. They sat at the workbench behind Abby's main computer console, and before Tony could suggest they find some pipe cleaners and rubber gloves and try to build some farm animals Clare gave him one of those perceptive looks he was learning to be wary of.

"So I guess you're kind of freaked out."

Tony gave her what he hoped was a reassuring smile. "She's going to be fine," he told her.

Clare nodded slowly. "Yeah, but I said that _you_ were freaked out."

Damn it, the little investigator was such a little pain in the butt. And he kind of loved her for it. "It was a bit of a shock," he admitted. "But Ziva has informed me in her special way that involved threats of violence that my concern is misplaced. So I'm over it."

Clare frowned like she didn't understand how it all worked. "Does it happen often?"

"Ziva threatening me with violence? Yes, frequently. But she doesn't mean it." He paused. "She almost never means it," he revised.

"No, I mean does Ziva or anyone else getting choked happen often?" Clare asked. "Or just hurt or whatever."

Tony shook his head firmly. "No."

Clare looked at him like she was weighing up pushing it. In the end, she did. "It's just Dad said that you got shot a couple of months ago. And this happened to Ziva. And you said that your last boss was killed, and your last partner was killed."

He reached over to put a comforting hand on her arm. It felt less awkward then when he'd comforted her at the hospital, but he was still expecting her to squirm uncomfortably. She didn't. "You don't need to spend time worrying about it, Clare," he told her. "That's my job."

But his attempt at reassurance was met with a disbelieving snort. "Okay, fine. But while you're worrying about everything for everyone, who's worrying about you?"

Tony gave her a smile, grateful for her concern, but he knew she didn't have to worry. "Gibbs," he replied. "And Ziva and McGee. We all worry about each other and take care of each other. It's okay."

Clare nodded, but Tony realized as soon as he said it that it hadn't been true last night. They were all a team, but with Tony gone it was McGee's job to step into his Senior Field Agent shoes and watch everyone's backs. If he'd been doing his job properly then Ziva shouldn't have ended up with some disgusting criminal's hands around her neck. She shouldn't have been pinned to the floor, dazed, as some piece of crap tried to squeeze the life out of her. If McGee had been taking care of her, he would have argued with her and made her stay in the hospital. And he would have driven her home in the morning when she was released. If he was doing his job, he wouldn't have just assumed that Ziva was going anywhere and that she'd be fine. He should have driven her home, put her to bed, stolen her keys and called her a few times to make sure she was conscious and still breathing okay. If McGee was doing his job, he should have worried about her more and taken care of her better. And Tony was going to make sure he knew it.

...

Before they left the Navy Yard, Tony left the girls with Abby and went in search of McGee. He was full of misdirected anger by the time he found the probie in the hallway beneath the stairs to MTAC, and yelled out to him before he could return to the bullpen.

"Hey!"

McGee stopped and turned, and gave him a brief smile. "Hey. Your sisters seem really sweet."

But Tony didn't give a crap about pleasantries. He stepped into McGee's face and laid down the law. "I've got enough to worry about with my dad and my insane, needy family without having to spend all day worrying about whether you guys are watching each other's backs as well," he hissed.

McGee blinked and gaped in surprise over Tony's outburst, but quickly regained control and tried to set Tony straight. "We were. She went to clear a room. Routine. We do it all the time."

"You should have had eyes on her," Tony told him. "You should've been faster to back her up."

McGee took the rant with the patience of someone who knew how to handle Tony when his buttons had been pressed. "I did back her up," he said calmly. "So did Gibbs. The suspect was hidden, Tony. Not even Ziva saw him coming. You think he would have been able to bring her down if she had?"

He was making complete sense and deep down Tony knew he was right. But the finger marks on Ziva's neck had scared the crap out of him and his level head had been lost days ago when he first met Mia in the bullpen. He was angry and stressed and worried about every facet of his life, and McGee could feed him calm and rational responses for the rest of the day and Tony still wouldn't be able to accept them.

"I'll be back tomorrow to relieve you of the seemingly impossible task of holding this team together," Tony told him. "Try not to let anyone get killed tonight and I'll get to work fixing everything in the morning."

He turned again and strode away, ignoring McGee's calls for him to come back and the sick feeling that had settled in his stomach over his behavior. Yeah, he was angry with McGee—and Gibbs and Ziva, for that matter—for a lack of awareness that could have gotten one of them killed. He felt justified in that anger. But he rarely yelled, and he never threatened his own guys. He didn't like how he'd dealt with it, but at least now McGee had no misunderstanding about what was expected of him if he ever filled Tony's shoes again.

...

Tony took that night off family duties. Anthony had finally been released and the girls were spending the night with him and Mia. Rose had called and asked if he wanted to have dinner with her, Louisa and his nonna, but Tony had begged off and honestly told her that he just needed a night alone to breathe. Rose had accepted this without complaint, and Tony had to wonder if either Lina or Clare had filled her in on what had happened to Ziva the night before. He hoped they hadn't. He didn't need Rose, Louisa and his nonna having their fears about him possibly being hurt in the line of duty fuelled by facts.

He was standing in front of his open refrigerator and trying to work out how many days it had been since he'd shoved the leftovers from Ziva's moussaka in there when his cell phone buzzed in his pocket. He let the refrigerator door swing shut, took out his phone and leaned his elbows against the counter as he brought up the text message.

_Are you with your family tonight?_

He responded to Ziva's text with a quick one of his own. _No, taking a break. Just at home._

Her response came so quickly that he wondered if she had already been typing when she got his message. _I'm coming over._

Tony winced to himself. He didn't usually duck from spending time with her, but he had a feeling she'd be angry with him for being angry with her and McGee, and he didn't feel like he had the energy to deal with it. He knew it would be pointless to tell her no, though, so he send her a quick _OK_ and then returned to his refrigerator in the search for something to eat.

Half an hour later he was still looking for something edible when she knocked on the door. He gave up his half-hearted search of his pantry and opened the door to find that Ziva once again came bearing food. Either she figured it would be a fairly solid guess that he wanted food, or she'd simply been thoughtful enough to realize that he probably hadn't had the chance to go grocery shopping for a while. Either way, he welcomed her in with a grateful smile as she held up the plastic bag with a few containers of Thai.

"Good timing," he said. "I was looking at having to eat a jar of mayonnaise for dinner."

Ziva made a face and brushed past him on her way to the kitchen. He followed her in and as she took containers out of the bag he went to the fridge and grabbed the last two beers in there. Good thing he hadn't ended up letting Lina and Clare drink them the other night or else they'd really have a crisis on their hands.

When he turned around again Ziva was standing right in front of him instead of on the other side of the kitchen where he expected her to be. He jumped and sent her a gently admonishing look, but that faded when she twisted her hair up, held it against the back of her head, and then arched her neck towards him, her head angled away. Tony's eyes fell on the bruises that she was clearly and pointedly showing to him, and his heart rate picked up again with panic. He should have been there. His family didn't need him sitting there doing nothing. He should have been at work with his team who _did_ need him there.

He put the beer bottles down and met Ziva's eyes. She was challenging him to say something. Challenging him to argue that she wasn't okay and needed looking after. He didn't dare take her up on that, but he voiced his concern nonetheless.

"Does it hurt?"

Ziva held his gaze for a moment and then gave him a little shrug that confirmed that it did, but not too much.

"It could have ended differently," he said thickly.

"It did not," Ziva told him, her voice still as raspy as it had been that morning.

He swallowed and looked at her guiltily. "I should have been there."

She gave him a fleetingly sympathetic look—if tables were turned, she would probably have been thinking the same thing—but denied it. "We cannot be with each other 24 hours a day," she said, letting her hair fall down again. "But in this case, Gibbs and McGee were both there."

"Then why didn't they stop it?" he asked, anger creeping into his tone now.

"McGee did," Ziva countered. "With two bullets. Do not take your anger out on them. It happened, I am fine, so we should all move on."

Tony sighed to himself. Rationally, he understood what she was saying and knew she was right. But Jesus, if that guy had just three more seconds before McGee had interrupted him, Tony never would have been able to forgive himself for being gone.

"I'm sorry," he offered. But his words were met with a scowl right before Ziva gave him a shot in the arm. He grabbed his bicep and angled his body away from her. "Ow! God!"

Ziva poked him in his other arm. "Not your fault," she rasped, and then gave him a gentle smack on the back of his head for good measure.

He tried to dodge further assault by stepping into her space, putting his face to her shoulder to make it harder for her to slap his head without slapping her own face, and then making a grab for her arms. Ziva resisted with a chuckle and pushed him back, and the next thing Tony knew they were wrestling and gently fighting each other in between laughter. They'd only wrestled once or twice in the past, and it hadn't been wrestling as much as Ziva attacking him for some stupid comment he'd made and him falling to the ground with a yelp. They certainly hadn't done it for fun before, and although it started off with a burst of uncontrollable laughter it quickly turned into something far less enjoyable. The massive release of emotion quite unexpectedly switched from cheer to panic, and while Ziva continued to fight him playfully Tony found himself seriously trying to stop the fight. It wasn't that he was scared of her or that she was hurting him. It was that he was allowing himself to fight her—even playfully—when someone else had fought her the night before and almost killed her. Maybe he wouldn't be quite so freaked out about it if he didn't have a heaping serve of family drama that he was still trying to get through, but he did, and he was.

When she lifted her arm to grab his shoulder and try to bring him down, Tony grabbed her wrist and spun her around, and then pulled her back against his chest. He wrapped his arms around hers, immobilizing her and ending the fight, but as Ziva continued to chuckle (and let him keep her still), Tony dropped his face to the back of her shoulder and squeezed his eyes closed as he tried to get a grip on himself. His breaths came fast and shallow and his arms got tighter around her, and although he knew he should let her go, he couldn't. He felt paralyzed. Holding on to her was how he was reassuring himself she was okay, even after he'd just pulled her wrists and tried to sweep her feet out from under her and used his weight to knock her off balance.

"I'm sorry," he said softly, breathlessly.

Ziva's chuckles subsided, and he felt her hair brush against his face as she tried to look back over her shoulder at him. "What?" She sounded completely confused and he didn't really blame her. He sounded crazy to himself, but he still couldn't make himself drop it.

"I shouldn't be grabbing you," he said, and lifted his head as he loosened his grip on her. "After last night. And I know you say it's not my fault, but I'm still sorry because I should have been there and backed you up."

She sighed heavily and turned, and by the time she faced him again his arms had fallen away from her. "Tony," she said with wheezy exasperation, "I will not accept your apologies over this. I know it is in your nature to try to hold yourself responsible for everything, but you need to start letting go of some things. Guilt would be a good place to start."

Tony shot a weak smile at the floor as he leaned back against the counter. Yeah, that pretty much summed him up right now. Half of him was guilty over not being there for his work family, and the other half was guilty over wanting to shun responsibility for his actual family. Somehow, he needed to find a balance between them and try to accept how much of himself he had to give to each side. But at that moment, with the woman he wanted to commit to standing before him with some guy's fingerprints branded across her throat, Tony couldn't even begin to start letting go. The weight of everything he was carrying came down on him hard, and he slid down the side of the counter until he was sitting on the floor.

Ziva's face was impassive as she watched him drop, and after a few seconds of silence she had pity and joined him. She braced her hands on his knees before crouching in front of him, her legs together and bracketed by his. "You know I am right," she said softly.

Tony nodded slowly. "Yeah, I do."

She narrowed her eyes momentarily in that way she did when she was sizing him up, and he guessed that she had another piece of tough love to dole out. He was sure that his expression didn't change in response, not even to invite her to share her thoughts. But Ziva never waited for an invitation. "Another thing," she said gently, and poked his knee. "Don't start treating McGee like Gibbs treats you."

Tony closed his eyes and sighed as he dropped his head back against the side of the counter. "I know I shouldn't have snapped at him," he admitted as another wave of guilt hit him. "I'll apologize tomorrow."

Ziva nodded. "Do you think you would have done that if you were not so stressed out about taking care of every single other person in your life?"

He understood that she was saying that to underline her original point, and he absolutely agreed with her. But instead of answering her he decided he had to make his own point. "They're _crazy_, Ziva," he insisted.

She shrugged, neither agreeing nor disagreeing. She had only met Lina and Clare, and of the entire DiNozzo bunch (Tony included) they were probably the least crazy. But she had to take his word about the others. "Perhaps. But it would be bad to start using them as an excuse for your actions."

Tony nodded, and Ziva smiled in return, satisfied that she'd gotten her message across. She patted his knee as if she now expected that they could get off the floor, but Tony still felt too weighed down to get up. He held her gaze and Ziva paused and waited for him to speak.

"Do you think we're destined to become our parents?" he asked.

Ziva's eyes went over his shoulder as she thought about that, and then she held onto his knees as she leaned back and lowered her butt to the floor. "Well, I think we take on certain parts of our parents' personalities," she said, and then looked at him seriously. "I do not believe that _you_ are destined to marry four times and drink for 30 years and have children you do not tell your other children about."

Tony had gotten over that concern since the last time they'd spoken about it, but it wasn't Daddy DiNozzo who he was worried about emulating. Given his treatment of McGee this afternoon, it was Gibbs he felt closest to. And while it was usually a compliment to think that he was following in Special Agent Leroy Jethro Gibbs' footsteps, it was a different matter when he realized he'd picked up one of his worst traits.

"Do you think I'm destined to live alone for the rest of my life?" he asked. "And long for my past, and make my entire life about my job?"

Ziva's eyes softened. "What part of your past do you long for, Tony?"

He thought about it, but ended up shaking his head. "Nothing," he admitted. "And maybe that makes it worse. I've never found myself in that place of total happiness. I've never had that perfect moment to relive and replay over and over."

"Many of us have not had that moment," Ziva replied, and he wasn't sure but it seemed as though her eyes were getting misty. "But we should not accept that this is all there is to life. And we should not give up looking for that place of happiness."

Tony's throat was tight as he swallowed, and although this was all hitting close to the bone for the two of them, he forced himself to keep looking her in the eye. "Are you still looking, Ziva?"

"Yes."

His heart thumped hard. "Do you think you'll find it?"

Ziva held his gaze silently, and when her eyes filled a little more he was almost sure she knew what he was getting at. He wasn't asking if she'd ever find happiness. He was asking if she thought they'd find it together. Because if she did, then maybe he'd be able to start letting go of the idea that he had to keep his feelings for her completely to himself. He held his breath as he waited for her response, and after what felt like too long she finally nodded.

"Yes," she replied, her voice cracking as if had all night.

And just like that, Tony felt the weight on him start to lift. Some of the happiness he was searching for crept into his veins, and a small, warm smile broke over his face. He covered her hand that was still resting on his knee with his as she returned the smile, and he decided that when all this crazy family stuff was over he was going to revisit this conversation.

Ziva squeezed his knee, telling him the moment needed to end, and then returned to the original topic. "Tony, you are not destined to become your father, and you are not destined to become Gibbs. We talked about this, yes? You are your own man and you make your own decisions."

Tony nodded, feeling more open to the idea than he had been before. "Yeah. I really am going to apologize to McGee tomorrow."

"Good."

He shook his head in wonder at his own actions. "It really was so easy to yell at him."

Ziva made a face like that was easy to believe. "It is probably because you love each other."

The comment completely ended the nice, intimate moment they'd had, and Tony screwed up his face in disgust. "Eww!" he cried.

Ziva gently punched his knee. "McGee knows the stress you have been under, and so he gave you a free pass for your behavior," she explained. "And you only yelled at him because you knew he would let you get away with it. You were upset but you could not take it out on me because I had just been threatened by someone else. You could not take it out on Gibbs because he would only smack you and tell you to get over it. You could not take it out on Abby because the behavior would worry her too much. And you could not take it out on your family when your relationships with them are either new or tenuous."

She was right, but her insight into his thought processes was slightly annoying. He aimed a scowl at her, but it didn't carry too much weight. "You've been watching too much Dr Phil."

Ziva returned to scowl. "No, you are just easy to profile because right now you are a walking cliché."

"Ouch."

She lifted an eyebrow, inviting him to argue with her. He couldn't be bothered. She took his silence as an end to the conversation and planted her hands on his knees again. She pushed herself to her feet.

"Can we eat yet?" she asked. "Or if there is something else you want to talk about first, can we at least do it on the couch?"

Tony shook his head and then held his hand out to her. "No, I'm done with the heavy stuff."

Ziva took his hand and helped him get to his feet. She turned to the takeout containers she had brought over while Tony grabbed chopsticks and a bottle opener from the middle drawer. He handed her the chopsticks and she took them and the food containers into the living room. Tony opened the two beers that were starting to get warm and then followed her.

Ziva was pulling the coffee table closer to the couch when he joined her in the living room, and then they settled side-by-side on the couch. He picked up the remote and started flicking around until he settled on a repeat of _Community_, and then settled back to eat his Pad Thai.

"Are you really coming back to work tomorrow?" Ziva asked.

Tony took a deep breath as he thought it over one more time, and then nodded. "Yeah. It's time. Regardless of your little foray into flatlining yesterday, I feel like I need to be there. For my own sanity as much as anything else."

"I did not flatline," she grumbled.

He grunted instead of engaging in an argument about it.

"It will be nice to have you back," she started before changing her tune slightly. "Maybe. Depending on what mood you are in. Because some days, Tony, you are exceptionally annoying."

"Thanks."

"But none of us want you to come back when your family still needs you. And we do not want you to come back only because you think one of us will get shot or stabbed or strangled."

He decided she probably hadn't intended to cause offense. "It's not about that," he said, lying only a little bit. "I'm not denying that I want to be there to watch my team's backs, but it's not all for your benefit. I need it for my own peace of mind." He waved his chopsticks dismissively. "Anyway. Dad's been discharged and he's back at the Dorchester. Soon enough the others will be packing up their wagons and heading home. Life's returning to normal, and there's no need for me to stay away from work and act like it's not."

Ziva looked at him thoughtfully. "Will you stay in contact with everyone?"

She had asked him that a few days ago when she really had been asking about everyone. Now, he was pretty sure she was just asking about one person in particular. "I will with the girls," he told her. "And I can't see Nonna and Rose and Louisa leaving me alone again until after Christmas." He paused and actually smiled. "I guess that's okay. You know, if they stay out of town."

Ziva nodded, but pressed him on the remaining person who she was most interested in. "And your father?"

Tony took his time to think that over as he picked between his noodles in search of a piece of chicken. Although Senior had apologized for his behavior, expressed interest in trying to repair their relationship and had even started trying to make amends, Tony still wasn't ready to welcome him back into his life with open arms. Gibbs had reminded him that being a father didn't make anyone infallible, but it wasn't just a few run of the mill mistakes that he was being asked to overlook. Anthony had essentially given up on parenting at all once Tony's mother had died, and while he'd tried to explain himself and his grief, and rationally Tony understood where he was coming from, he couldn't wipe the slate clean just yet. Jesus, the guy had only been back in his life for a week.

"I don't know," he finally replied. "Adorable, well adjusted siblings don't make up for his shitty overall attempt at parenting." He paused. "I want to get over it, Ziva. I really do. I just think it's probably going to take a long time."


	11. Chapter 11

**I know, I know. I keep abusing this story with unacceptably long delays between posts. I'm sorry. I'm grateful to anyone who's still following along. I hope the following 12,000+ words in this chapter are an acceptable peace offering.  
>Disclaimer: Disclaimed.<strong>

* * *

><p>Two days after his father was released from hospital, Tony had no choice but to give in to his family's badgering to meet Ziva. He had been hoping to hold out longer (say, until they all left and forgot about it), and he had been feeding them plausible excuses to explain her (fake) lack of availability. They both worked long hours! Ziva had kickboxing class! She already had plans to clean her guns! But eventually the Mafioso tired of waiting and went about reminding him of how sneaky and devious they could be when they had their collective eyes on the prize.<p>

He, Ziva and McGee had been driving out to Quantico that morning when Ziva's cell phone rang. It was hardly notable, until Ziva answered and her voice was colored by surprise and mirth.

"Oh! Hello, Mrs. DiNozzo."

Tony had nearly driven the car off the road in shock. The sedan had veered out of its lane as his arm shot out across the console to the passenger seat to try to wrench the phone out of her hand. Ziva had fought off his attack with a hard smack to the back of his hand before reaching over to grab the steering wheel and pulling the car out of the way of oncoming traffic. As McGee had cried out in terrified warning from the back seat, Tony and Ziva had a quick, whispered argument consisting of _"Give me the phone!" _and _"Watch the road!"_ before Ziva had continued speaking to his grandmother as if everything was fine.

"Yes, he has told me about you all. I am sorry to hear that your son is unwell."

"Give me the phone," Tony had ordered at normal volume, but Ziva had just scrunched her nose dismissively at him.

"Men are often like that," Ziva went on. "But I understand he is well on the road to recovery now."

"Is she talking to one of your aunts?" McGee asked, and one glance at him in the rear view mirror had been enough to tell Tony that McGee was enjoying how much Tony _wasn't_ enjoying it.

"My grandmother," he replied through gritted teeth. "Damn it. I know better than to underestimate her. She's a criminal mastermind."

"Criminal?" McGee questioned.

"Yes," Tony insisted. "She's committing treason. Against me."

McGee had just snorted, and Tony had tuned back into Ziva's conversation.

"Thank you! That sounds wonderful."

Tony literally shuddered in his seat. "_What_ sounds wonderful?" he demanded to know.

"I am not sure," Ziva replied to his grandmother. "Hold on for one moment and I will ask him." Ziva covered her cell phone speaker and looked at him with amusement. "Your grandmother would like to know whether you would be free to join us for dinner tonight. Or if you will be busy in your kickboxing class."

He'd sent her a glare that could freeze hell.

Ziva had smiled and returned to her conversation with his nonna. "He would love to come, Mrs DiNozzo. We will see you at seven."

That was why he now found himself getting into the elevator at The Dorchester with a silken-dressed Ziva. And as the elevator rose to the 25th floor, Tony's anxiety rose with it. He didn't like being forced into this situation, particularly not since he'd made it clear to his family that he was uncomfortable. But they just didn't listen. They seemed to think that it was great entertainment to come into his life after years on the outside, stir the pot for their own enjoyment, and make him squirm and suffer. And then what? Next week they'd be gone again, but Tony would be left to deal with the fallout from the havoc they'd wreaked. It was _his_ life they were messing with. _His_ relationships. And in particular, a relationship that had been maddeningly indefinable for years and years for a very good reason that his family just didn't seem to understand: it kept the status quo.

He wasn't in the dark over the kind of relationship he ultimately wanted with Ziva. Just like he wasn't in the dark over _why_ that couldn't happen. Not now. Gibbs had a rule, although that wasn't the thing that held him back. If push came to shove, Tony was fairly confident that Gibbs would accept a relationship between his team members (albeit with absolutely no grace and a whole lot of angry lip-pursing and the occasional well-timed put-down). No, the thing that kept him from giving in and making a move (aside from paralyzing fear) was a strong desire to protect team dynamics. He was a cop to the bone, but he couldn't honestly put his hand on his heart and say that he would treat her the same in the field as he did McGee. And that could end up literally hurting McGee if Tony hesitated or made a choice with his heart instead of his head. He was a professional, but he couldn't even stop himself from arguing with her now over her stubbornness. There was no way he'd be able to keep his mouth shut in the office if they were fighting about things at home (which he had no doubt they would do a lot of). Not only would that piss off Gibbs and McGee, but it would breed a toxic environment for the two of them to exist in. And, good God, they'd be in the same environment _all the time_. Work together, home together, always together. They were both independent creatures who needed their space. If they were forced to spend all day, every day in each other's company they would murder each other. And that would put Gibbs, McGee, forensic scientist Abby and medical examiner Ducky in difficult positions when it came time to work out which one of them was to blame. Just because Tony was positive now that the double murder was likely to be Ziva's fault didn't mean that there wouldn't have to be an investigation.

Did his family understand all that?

The elevator stopped and Tony took a moment to close his eyes and breathe deeply before following Ziva out of the car. He caught the frown of concern she threw over her shoulder at him, and he just shook his head in response. There probably wasn't a good way to tell her that he felt sick to his stomach because his family was probably about to try to marry them off. In fact, he wouldn't be surprised if his nonna had invited a marriage celebrant to dinner 'just in case'.

"You look pale," Ziva stated.

Tony shook his head again, and added a bright smile for effect. "It's probably just this crappy hotel lighting. It's so stark. Makes everyone look sick."

Ziva looked around to take in the warm lighting scheme that set off the dark wood, caramel carpeting and rich gold wallpaper along the hallway. If anything, the lighting was closer to flattering candlelight than migraine-inducing hospital fluorescence.

"Stark?" she repeated. "I was going to say that this lighting makes me want to drink a lot of wine, eat chocolate and kiss someone inappropriately."

He bit his tongue to keep from telling her to shut up and let him have his lies.

"Why are you so nervous?" Ziva went on. "Are you concerned that I will find out a dark family secret you have been hiding all this time?" She stopped walking and put her hand on his arm before leaning in and lowering her voice. "Is your family not really Italian? Be honest with me, Tony. I will know if you are lying."

Tony ignored her teasing and kept walking. "It's not what _you'll_ find out that I'm worried about," he muttered, but then revised his thought quickly. "Actually, that's part of it. I'm more worried about what they'll find out."

Ziva's confused response came after a few beats of silence. "About me?" she asked, her voice smaller than normal. "I was not planning on going into detail about my father being the head of Mossad and how many lives I have taken."

Tony stopped abruptly and spun to face her. There was fire in her eyes, like she was prepared to argue about this. But her overall demeanor screamed out her shame. His stomach fell and twisted, the way it always did when her contemplated the things she'd done before she'd landed in his life. In the early days he found it difficult to reconcile who she'd been and the things she was capable of with the woman he was having fuzzy feelings for. But over time he'd come to realize that she'd been doing her job to protect her country, and there was nothing black and white about being in that position. She'd followed orders. Like Gibbs and so many soldiers at war. Like the elite special forces who operated off the grid. Like Vance and his black ops. She did her job for what she had been told was the greater good. She wasn't some cold-blooded killer. She had empathy and she felt regret. And it was okay to love her…from afar.

He reached out to touch her arm with brief reassurance as he shook his head. "That's not what I meant. I meant…" He trailed off when he realized he couldn't just tell her what he meant. _I meant I don't want them to see us together because I'm not sure how much feeling there is in my face when I look at you, and I don't want them to start screaming about marriage and babies. Because you and me haven't had that discussion and I've never admitted to you that I love you, or even like you very much, and so it would be awkward and horrible and I DON'T WANT TO DEAL WITH IT._

Ziva lifted her eyebrows at him in a silent request to share what he was thinking. He shook his head again, turned and kept walking.

"I just meant I haven't been close to any of them in a long time and they don't know a whole lot about who I am now."

The explanation seemed to pass inspection, and Ziva quickened her pace to fall in step beside him again. "That is a reasonable anxiety to have," she decided. "But I am sure they will love who you are now. You do not need to worry."

Tony nodded distractedly as they approached the right hotel suite. "Sure," he said offhandedly, and then turned to face her again. "Okay, some things you need to know and prepare for. My aunts, Nonna and Dad? They're going to go on for a while about how beautiful you are. It might get uncomfortable. You might also get the feeling that Dad's hitting on you. He might well be doing that, but he doesn't actually expect that you'll show any interest back. So just treat it as slightly inappropriate but harmless flirting." He paused while she gave him a pointed look and smirked. "It's a given that Rose and Louisa will scream at each other at some point, and then turn on Dad. Just ignore it. They might look like they're going to stab each other with the cutlery, but they almost never get to that point."

"That makes a change from my family," Ziva muttered.

"There's going to be a baby in there," he went on. "Upfront I want to say I'm sorry. Because you're not going to avoid questions from three old Italian women about your plans for reproducing. And you're not going to avoid the stories of how all their kids were born. Or advice on how you might like to have yours."

Ziva nodded her head seriously. "Water birth with a doula," she told him. "Of course, the father will be in the pool with me as well so that he can fully experience every moment of the birth. And we will keep the placenta in the freezer to eat over the next six months. Apparently it has many health benefits."

Tony's brain froze in terror as he stared down at her straight face. "What?"

Ziva leaned in to him and looked him in the eye. "You need to calm down," she told him slowly. "I have dealt with overzealous relatives before." She patted his cheek and then, before he could stop her, reached out and knocked on the door.

Tony was still stuck on water births and placenta-eating. "Were you joking, or is that what you're going to do?"

Ziva rolled her eyes so hard she almost fell over. "Do I look like a goddamn hippy to you?"

That wasn't the definitive answer he was after. "So…it _was_ a joke?"

She shot him a brief glare. "Yes, it was a joke," she hissed right before the door swung open.

"Tony!" his nonna cried, and ushered them in to the hotel suite. "I am so glad you decided to come, _tesoro!_"

"Well, I didn't have much cho—" Tony started, but the rest of his words were lost when his nonna threw all of her 90 pounds at him and wrapped her arms around his torso. He carefully settled his hands on the backs of her fragile shoulders and looked over at Ziva. For the first time since he'd met her, his badass partner was making _'so cute!'_ face. He started shaking his head at her, but before he could do much of anything about it four more women appeared from within the suite.

"TONY!" they yelled in such perfect sync that he wondered if they'd practiced it.

"Hi," he said over the top of his nonna's head. She was still clinging to his torso, her cheek pressed against his chest, and he didn't think she was going to let go before the rest of them piled on.

"You came!" Rose yelled, and then attached herself to his right side.

"We're so pleased!" Louisa added, and attached herself to his left. Tony suddenly found himself inside a cloud of Chanel perfume.

From behind them, Lina threw her arms in the air dramatically and Clare bounced from side to side, clapping with teasing glee.

"Yay!" they cried, and then somehow managed to throw themselves into the old lady scrum without hurting anyone. Except Tony.

"Oh, my God," he muttered as he struggled under the weight of five women clinging to him. "Uh, you know, it's great to get all the hugging out of the way in one go, but I'm going numb."

None of the women hanging off him seemed inclined to do anything about that.

"I'm going to fall over," he warned them as he felt a sharp pain go through his bad knee. "Seriously, at least three of you need to let go."

"We're just trying to make you feel loved and less nervous!" Lina teased from behind his left ear.

"What? I'm not nervous! Why would I be nervous right now?" Tony almost yelled, completely overcompensating. "God, I really can't feel my arms." He glanced over the top of Rose's bouffant at Ziva who was watching the display with wide-eyed shock, and covering her open mouth with her hand. In his right mind he knew it wouldn't be fair to use her as his life raft right now, but his right mind had been squeezed out of his head by old and freakishly strong Italian women. "Look!" he suddenly cried. "Ziva's here. I brought Ziva with me!"

The magic words made the Mafioso let go, and Tony watched as they turned en masse and then piled on to Ziva. He drew a deep breath as the high pitched squeals and coos started, and when Ziva's bewildered eyes locked on his from between his aunts' heads, he couldn't help but burst out laughing. Not even Abby had ever grabbed Ziva with so much gusto. His partner didn't have much of a 'grab me and squeeze me' vibe about her. But the elderly Italian women didn't seem to give a crap.

"It's so wonderful to meet you!" Rose cried.

"We've been waiting for so long!" Imelda continued.

"And we love meeting Tony's friends," Louisa finished.

"It is lovely to meet you," came Ziva's muffled voice from the middle of the scrum.

Lina, Clare, and Tony's aunts let go of her after a few too many moments, and although his nonna took a step back, she still held on to Ziva's hands from arm's length and looked at her with the sparkle of great-grandchildren in her eyes.

"Look at this one!" she exclaimed, as Ziva's eyes darted to Tony for reassurance that this was completely normal behavior. "She's so beautiful!" She turned to look at her grandson. "Tony! She's so beautiful."

Tony nodded but made an effort to play it down, knowing that no matter how gracious Ziva would be about it she would feel uncomfortable about the fuss. "Yeah, she's okay. Hey, unrelated news? Really flattering lighting in here."

"Tony!" Rose admonished, slapping his arm for good measure.

Ziva smirked at him before Imelda cupped her cheek.

"Look at this skin!" Imelda exclaimed. "Rose, have you seen this beautiful skin?"

"I know, I know," Rose said with a roll of her eyes. "I hate being surrounded by all this youth and beauty." She shot a wink at her nieces.

"We're so happy you came tonight, _bella_," Imelda went on. "I am Tony's grandmother. My daughters, Rose and Louisa," she gestured at the women flanking Ziva. "And I think you have already met my grandchildren, Lina and Clare. Welcome to our temporary accommodations."

"Thank you, Mrs DiNozzo," Ziva replied. "It was very kind of you to invite me for dinner."

Imelda squeezed her hand. "Darling, don't be so formal. Call me Nonna."

"Of course," Ziva said as Tony rolled his eyes to himself. Imelda was probably already designing wedding dresses in her head.

"I'm so excited to meet Tony's close friend," Imelda was saying. "We haven't seen him much in recent years, which is a terrible shame, you know. But we would love to hear from you about what the two of you get up to together."

Ziva hesitated for a moment, as if trying to work out if Imelda was hinting at more than she appeared to be with that turn of phrase. Tony knew for sure that she was, but he was distracted from helping out when he spied Rose stroking the ends of Ziva's hair. Quickly, he reached around Rose's back to grab her arm and stop her, and then gave her a stern frown. Rose's eyes widened in genuine surprise, and she clutched the offending hand to her chest as if she hadn't realized she had been doing it. She gave Tony a look of apology before wandering away.

"I have so many stories I could tell you," Ziva said to Imelda.

"Perhaps I didn't make it clear," Tony said to her, "but you're supposed to be on my side."

Ziva just winked in reply. It didn't calm his fears.

Imelda led them from the entryway of the enormous suite and into the dining room. An extra long table had been set with fine China, silverware, expensive linens, candlesticks and floral arrangements. Tony frowned at the display and then looked to Rose, the hotelier.

"Is this your doing?"

"Of course."

"Is it necessary?"

"We're having a proper meal!" Rose exclaimed. "The table wasn't big enough for all of us, so I called down and asked them to bring another. And a few other things."

"Like a floral centerpiece."

Rose shrugged. "It's…festive."

"Candlesticks?"

"Ambiance."

Tony picked up a wine glass and flicked the rim gently. "Crystal wine glasses?"

"They were on sale at Bloomingdale's," Rose replied, and took the glass off him. "I'll take them back to the inn with me. Tax write-off."

"Right."

"I'll get you some wine," she said. "Ziva, would you like some wine?"

"Thank you."

"Just water for me," Tony told her.

His aunts and grandmother all stopped dead and stared at him.

"What?" Rose managed.

Tony looked between them all. Surely they couldn't have a problem with him staying dry, particularly while his father, the alcoholic was around? "I won't have wine," he said. "Water is fine."

"We have scotch," Imelda offered. "And vodka. Louisa, did we end up getting that champagne? I think we have champagne."

Tony shook his head. "No, really. Water is all I want."

Rose waited another beat in case he changed his mind, and then shrugged and headed towards the kitchen. "Okay. One wine, one water." Disappointment was heavy in her voice.

"Hey, Ziva?" Lina called, gesturing with her own glass of wine. "How are you feeling?"

"Fine, thank you," Ziva said. "It was nothing to worry about."

"Were you unwell, darling?" Imelda asked.

Ziva shook her head and met Tony's eyes. "No. Just a minor throat irritation."

Tony sighed at her description of being choked. Her voice was back to normal, although he caught her still wincing a little when she ate. And although the bruises on her neck were fading, he'd still been able to clearly make out the finger marks around her throat under the stark lights in the bullpen that morning. Tonight they seemed to be concealed by good lighting and good make up application, and it gave him a heavy feeling in his chest to think that she was probably a master at using make up to conceal bruises.

"Tony!"

Tony turned at his father's booming voice, and saw him coming through the lounge room. He looked much better than he had in the hospital. The color was coming back to his face, his silver hair was combed and neat, and he was dressed in a dark blue cashmere sweater and casual tan pants that had probably cost as much as Tony's rent for the month. He didn't look as weak and small as he had lying in the hospital bed, but now that Tony had seen him so vulnerable and, well, _human_, it was hard to find him as intimidating as he once had.

He met his dad by the end of the long overstuffed couch and shook his hand. "Hey, Dad. Good to see you up and about."

Anthony beamed and pulled Tony into a tight, unexpected hug. "Glad you came, kid," he said as he slapped Tony's back. "The Mafioso's been workin' themselves into a tizz about dinner tonight. They would've been insufferable if you'd cancelled. And I wanted to see you again before I head back to New York."

"Yeah," Tony said quietly, and then turned and gestured to Ziva standing beside him. "Dad, this is my partner, Ziva. Ziva, my dad, Anthony."

Ziva took Anthony's proffered hand. "I am sorry you have not been well recently."

Anthony turned a charming smile on her and held her hand in both of his. "Oh, honey," he purred. "It's worth it if it means I get to meet beautiful creatures like you."

"Dad," Tony said warningly.

Anthony ignored him. "I can see why Tony loves his job so much."

Tony sighed, already tired with Anthony's antics, and looked heavenward for strength. Anthony caught the tail end of the look.

"What?" he asked, still clasping Ziva's hand. "It's just been so long since you let me meet one of your _friends_."

If he got out of there tonight without shooting anyone, Tony thought it would be a miracle. "Okay, let go of Ziva, Dad."

Anthony dropped her hand and gave her a wink. "Sorry."

"How are you doing today?" Tony asked him.

"I'd kill someone for a cigarette," Anthony stated, as if it were absolute fact. "Literally light them on fire—"

"Easy."

"I've smoked every day for 50 years," he told Ziva.

"It must be very difficult to give up."

"I'm trying those patches," he said, and gestured at his left side. "You put them on your arm and it's supposed to help with the cravings, but I really just want to lick one. Just put it in my mouth and suck it dry, you know?"

Tony raised his eyebrows. "Wow. Don't do that, okay?"

"They should make patches for whiskey, too," Anthony went on. "And red meat. Those doctors say I've got to cut down on red meat. Salt. Sugar. Fat. All the good stuff." He looked thoughtful. "They didn't say anything specifically about cocaine, but I guess that's probably out as well."

Tony's blood went cold. "When did you start doing cocaine?" he asked, struggling to keep an even tone.

But Anthony broke into a grin and clapped a hand on Tony's shoulder. "It's a joke, kid! Lighten up."

Tony's temple started throbbing again, and he lifted a hand to rub it firmly. "I will certainly try to do that," he replied tonelessly.

"Ticker feels fine, now that I'm out of the hospital." He leaned towards Ziva with a conspiratorial smirk. "The hospital is the part that makes people sick. I'm sure of it."

"I agree," Ziva replied.

Tony turned his frown on the woman who had signed herself out of the hospital just a few days ago. "Yeah, but sometimes doctors know what they're talking about, right?"

Ziva barely narrowed her eyes, just enough to tell him that she had understood the remark and didn't care for it. "I am going to remind you that you said that one day."

She had a point. He was hardly a model patient. But he wasn't as bad as her.

"Seems to me that the classy thing to do would be to keep that to yourself," he replied.

Ziva cocked her hear to the side and her eyes narrowed a little more. "That is quite a double standard."

Tony nodded, not denying it. She should always listen to her doctors. Meanwhile, he knew his body better than doctors and could overrule them. "Yeah, it sure is," he said, before movement over Anthony's shoulder caught his eye. Mia came out of the bedroom Anthony had just come from, and she was carrying Josie in her arms. He smiled in greeting. "Hi, Mia."

"Hey, Tony," she said, and switched Josie into her other arm. "And it's Ziva, right?"

Ziva nodded and shook her hand. "Nice to see you again."

Mia nodded and looked behind them to the flurry of activity in the kitchen and dining room. "Wow. We've got a full house, huh?"

"Honey, have you got one of your cameras with you?" Anthony asked her.

"Of course." Mia looked between Tony and Ziva. "I'm a professional photographer," she explained.

"An extremely talented one," Anthony added. "Could you take a few shots tonight?"

"Sure. It's a pretty significant night, huh?" Her gaze passed between Tony and Ziva again. "In more ways than one."

Tony wondered what the hell that was supposed to mean, and whether his nonna, aunts and sisters had been talking about him and Ziva behind their backs. He decided it was likely, and felt his anxiety from before they'd walked into the hotel room start to spike again. God, he just hoped that they didn't have anything crazy planned that would put him and Ziva in an awkward position. Well, more awkward than the position they were already in.

Anthony gave Josie's cheek a kiss and then excused himself, and Tony took the opportunity to grill Mia.

"How's he really doing?" he asked.

Mia gave him an understanding smile. "He's really doing okay," she assured him. "He's been taking it easy. Sleeping a lot. He hasn't been short of breath and he's eaten more today than he has for a while."

Tony nodded. "Has he been in touch with his doctor in New York?"

"Yes. And he's got a referral to a cardiologist there who will take over his treatment." She put a soft hand on Tony's arm. "He's going to be okay."

Tony gave her a tight smile. Of course it was good news that he wasn't going to drop dead anytime soon, and he would admit that he was a little more invested in his father's good health than he had been a week ago. But he was still more interested in him staying healthy to be around for Lina, Clare and Josie rather than himself. They could stand in that hotel suite and act like their relationship was back on course, but it wasn't. And Tony didn't think it ever would be.

"Hey, Mia?" Clare yelled out from the kitchen. "Where did you put that basil you got this afternoon?"

"I'm coming!" Mia yelled back, and then thrust Josie into Tony's arms. "Could you hold her for a minute?"

"Uh…" he started, but Mia was already walking away. "Okay." He maneuvered Josie around in his arms until she was leaning against his chest and his forearm was under her butt. Josie curled her tiny fist around the collar of his shirt and looked up at him curiously. "We've met before," he felt the need to say.

Josie made a garbled noise and then planted her head onto his shoulder.

"Okay," he said, more to himself, and then looked at Ziva. "Why does that woman just keep handing me her baby?"

"Your sister," Ziva pointed out.

"Whatever."

Ziva reached out to brush the back of her finger across Josie's cheek. "Oh, you were right. She has huge blue eyes."

"I think she's bigger than the last time I saw her."

"Probably."

"No, like, significantly," he said, and hiked her up a little higher on his chest to get a better grip. Josie rested her head against his cheek and made another garbled noise, and when Tony tried to turn his head to look at her he ended up taking a breath right over her head. She smelled like baby powder and something soft and cute and indefinable that made warmth spread through his whole body. "Oh, wow."

"What?"

He stooped a little to put Josie's head closer to Ziva's. "Get a hit of that."

"Of what?"

"Smell her head."

Ziva gave him an odd look, but then leaned closer and breathed in behind Josie's left temple. Her eyes fluttered closed and she let out a small moan before leaning back again. "Oh. I see."

"How good is that?" Tony said, and smelled Josie's head again. "You think that's baby shampoo?"

Ziva shook her head. "I think that is just her."

He held Ziva's gaze for a moment and they shared a small smile.

"I guess these things aren't all bad," he said.

"No."

"Ah! Look at this!"

They both turned to see Imelda coming towards them, her hands clasped together in front of her chest. Tony glanced over to Mia in the kitchen just in time to see her smirk knowingly and then turn away, and in an instant he realized he'd been had.

"Damn it," he hissed behind Josie's head. "It was a trap."

"You look so natural with a little one in your arms," Imelda said, and placed a soft hand on his cheek. "Don't you think so, Ziva?"

Ziva nodded too easily for Tony's liking, but he chose to believe that she was just being polite by playing along. "Oh, yes. It suits him."

Tony shot her a little frown to remind her again that she was supposed to be on his side, and then tried to explain that holding the baby hadn't been his idea. "Mia just had to help Clare with something. She'll be right back."

"Mhmm," Imelda cooed, and stroked Josie's head lovingly. "You were right, Tony. She is one of the beautiful babies."

"I think Rose said that," he corrected.

"Who can remember?" she said dismissively. "Your father is a screw up at many things. But he excels at producing beautiful, intelligent children. You must hand him that."

Tony cracked a smile. "You don't think you're a little bit prejudiced, Nonna?"

"No," she said firmly. "Tony said you don't have any children, Ziva."

Tony took a deep, calming breath over Josie's head. Here came the interrogation.

"No, I do not," Ziva replied.

"Are you planning for them?"

"Nonna!" Tony chided. "Boundaries!"

Imelda held her hands out, like she couldn't see the big deal. "What? It's just a question."

"I would like them, yes," Ziva told her. She hastened to add, "Sometime in the future. I do not have plans."

It seemed to be a good enough answer. "Wonderful!" Imelda exclaimed, and then set her eyes on Tony again. "You know, I remember when you used to carry your cousin Louie under your arm like he was a surfboard."

Tony smiled as the memory came back to him. "It made it harder for him to kick me anywhere sensitive."

"He did not like you?" Ziva asked.

"Yeah, but he was four."

"And you almost broke his leg," Imelda reminded him.

Tony's smile grew and he let out a laugh before he could stop himself. At his nonna's raised eyebrow he dropped the smile and cleared his throat. "Sorry. Not funny. That wasn't deliberate."

Imelda gave him a withering look and turned to Ziva. "He was spinning one of the little ones around by his hands."

"I was giving him a helicopter ride," Tony explained, drawing Ziva's eyes.

"And you got dizzy," Imelda said.

"Helicopter experienced mechanical failure," Tony told Ziva. "We had to set it down in the rough."

Imelda pursed her lips at the smile that was creeping back onto Tony's face. "You swung him down the side of a hill."

Tony's smile broke free again. "It was a slight slope," he argued. "He rolled to a stop. And then screamed like his little sister."

Ziva finally joined his side to smile. "How old were you?"

He shrugged and shifted Josie into his other arm. "I guess about ten." He looked at his grandmother. "But I gave Linda plenty of airplanes that summer and I never once dropped her."

"You gave her airplanes?" Ziva had to ask.

"It's a game," he explained. "When you lie on your back with your feet in the air and someone else lies on your feet, so it's like they're flying."

Ziva's smile grew, and she looked vaguely curious. Tony winked at her.

"I'll give you one later if you're good."

"That sounds like a good way to hurt ourselves."

"Dinner's ready!" Louisa yelled from the kitchen.

Tony looked at Ziva. "Did I tell you that my family yells everything?"

"So does mine," she said, and leaned in and lowered her voice. "Relax."

"I'm relaxed," he lied. "Let's go have a relaxing dinner."

They joined the table as Lina, Mia and Clare brought out platters of food. Tony hovered by Mia, ready to hand Josie off as soon as she was done finding space amongst the candlesticks, wine glasses and flowers for a platter heaving with rice balls. When she turned she seemed surprised to see him there, and gave him a bemused smile as she took Josie back.

"Thanks."

"She's cute," he felt the need to say.

"She knows it," Mia replied, and then blew a raspberry against Josie's cheek as she carried her away.

Tony took a seat between Ziva and Lina, and Rose returned to put a big glass of red wine in front of Ziva. "There you are, darling," she said, and then put a small glass of water in front of Tony. "We have gin, _tesoro_," she said, giving it one more shot. "I can make you a gin and tonic."

"Rose, water's fine," he insisted. "Really." Sometimes he wondered how his father had been the only one in his family to become an alcoholic.

"Let me know if you change your mind," she said hopefully, and then walked around to her seat on the other side of the table. Once they were all settled, Imelda clasped her hands and made the sign of the cross over her chest.

"Can we say grace?"

It had been so long since Tony had done anything of the sort that for a moment he didn't know what she was talking about. When others around the table clasped their hands and bowed their heads, he rushed to follow, lest his grandmother catch sight of his heretic behavior. Imelda led the prayer, as she always did.

"Bless us, o Lord, and these Thy gifts, which we are about to receive from Thy bounty. Through Christ, our Lord. Amen."

The others muttered "Amen"s before Anthony, Rose and Louisa started grabbing for food. But Imelda wasn't done.

"I have something to say before we all eat ourselves into a food coma."

Her children snatched their hands back, and Anthony groaned pointedly. Imelda shot him the look of a cranky mother, but otherwise ignored him.

"I want to say that it makes me so happy to be with you all tonight," she began. "Even though my son is a devious little shit, the important thing is that he has now come clean and brought three wonderful daughters with him. And a wonderful mother for Josie." She turned a smile on Tony. "And I'm so happy that Tony has joined us and brought his beautiful friend to the family. It is a shame that such bad news brought us all together, but I am grateful nonetheless."

"Well said, Mamma," Louisa said.

Imelda tipped her glass in thanks. "Now. Everyone eat.

* * *

><p>They were halfway through the main course of seafood spaghetti and down three bottles of wine before the conversation turned Tony and Ziva's way. Tony had to hand it to the Mafioso; they knew what they were doing. They spent almost an hour avoiding any topic that might have made Tony wary, defensive or trapped, and then, once he was relaxed and Ziva had two glasses of wine in her stomach, they started their attack.<p>

"So, Ziva," Rose started. "Tell us what it is like working with Tony."

Tony paused with a piece of shrimp halfway to his mouth and cut his eyes to the side to look at Ziva. His partner turned on him with a wine-loosened smile, and then looked him up and down appraisingly. Tony braced for impact.

"It is never dull," Ziva replied. "It is often educational, particularly with regard to cinema, sport and the inner workings of the male mind."

Tony lifted an eyebrow at her assessment. He was unable to determine whether she thought understanding the male mind from his perspective was a good thing or a bad thing.

"You must work very closely together," Louisa said.

Ziva nodded. "We live in each other's hips."

The table frowned in unison at the mangled idiom, and Tony immediately fell into his role as Ziva-to-English translator.

"She means we live in each other's pockets," he told them. "Or we're joined at the hip."

"What is the difference?" Ziva asked.

"They mean the same thing."

"Then why are there two sayings?"

"Living in each other's pockets was a Roman Catholic thing. But having pockets used to be against the Protestant faith, so they had to come up with something else."

The two of them looked at each other, poker faced, as others at the table chuckled or sighed. Then Ziva narrowed her eyes with suspicion.

"You are joking."

The corner of his mouth pulled up. "Yes."

"If you do not know, just say you do not know."

"I do not know," he told her with a shake of his head.

Ziva addressed his aunts and grandmother. "Working with him is very much like this."

"Tony said you've worked together for a long time," Imelda said, although Tony couldn't remember ever telling her that. "You must work well together."

Tony received another appraising look from his partner, which turned to a smile before she replied to Imelda. "When we do not have the urge to strangle each other, I think we work very well together, yes." She addressed her next comment to Tony. "We are a good team."

"Teamwork is important to a successful partnership," Anthony stated, as if he had any idea what he was talking about.

Ziva's eyes softened as she held Tony's gaze for a few moments, and it gave him a feeling in his chest that was either apprehension or intense affection. Or both.

Ziva turned back to Imelda. "The truth is that Tony is a wonderful partner," she said, her tone devoid of teasing. "He is an excellent investigator, and I have learnt a great deal from him. And he has been extremely important in helping me adjust to life in the United States. He is part of a dying breed of truly good men."

As Imelda melted at the words, Tony wondered if he could get away with kicking Ziva under the table without her automatically reaching for her gun. He hadn't explicitly told Ziva that his family was auditioning her tonight for the part of Tony's wife, but she had to know that the Mafioso was keen on pushing them together. They had been fairly obvious about it. So why was Ziva stoking the fire? The two of them had _never_ been so complimentary of each other in the past, and he had to wonder if she was being completely honest, or whether she was just telling his grandmother what she obviously wanted to hear about her grandson. And hell, if that really was what she thought of him, how could she be so open about it to other people when they would most likely choke on the honesty when it was just the two of them?

Suddenly, Tony _really_ wanted a glass of wine. But he would refrain.

"He is a good man," Imelda said, and Tony threw her a brief, automatic smile in response. "To look after people so well. As do you, darling. Tony said that you were in the army once."

Tony frowned. When the hell had he said that? How often had he spoken about her to the Mafioso without realizing?

"In the Israeli Defense Forces," Ziva told her. "When I was 18."

"It's compulsory in Israel, isn't it?" Anthony asked, displaying more knowledge that Tony would have given him credit for.

"For most people. Yes," Ziva said. "I come from a military family."

"My father was in the army," Imelda said.

"Oh, I did not know that," Ziva said, glancing at Tony.

"World War One," Tony said. "Against the Austro-Hungarians."

"My late husband's father fought in that war as well," Imelda said. "That was one of the things we bonded over when we met." Her eyes filled with memories as she looked to Lina and Clare and gave them some family history. "It was at the pictures in New York back in 1936."

"Whoa," Clare breathed.

Imelda chuckled. "I was 16. My older sister took me to see _Follow the Fleet_. You know that one, Tony?"

"Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers," Tony said with a nod, and then nudged Ziva. "Fred Astaire was in the navy in that one."

"Exactly," Imelda said, pointing at him as he made her next point. "I was sitting next to this young boy and he told me his father had served in the Italian army. Can you imagine? So had mine! I thought he was trying to impress my sister. He was a little older, you know. Almost 20 already. But no, he was sweet on me." She paused and then chuckled. "It annoyed the crap out of my sister."

Tony smiled to himself as Imelda rehashed the story he'd heard a hundred times, and then glanced at Ziva. She was leaning forward over the table and listening to every word Imelda said with a small smile on her face. And he didn't know why, but at that moment he had the urge to reach over and squeeze her hand. He didn't.

"He courted me for the next few months," Imelda went on. "And oh, I was head over heels for him. Roberto Antonio DiNozzo. We were still coping with the Great Depression, but he always made me feel like a queen. It didn't matter, all that uncertainty and fear swirling around us. We had each other, and so we knew we would be just fine. He was my best friend for 63 years."

Rose reached over to squeeze her mother's hand. "He was a good man," she said, and then added, "But he couldn't sing for shit."

"I know," Imelda said, rolling her eyes with irritation. "He would sing every damn day, and it didn't matter how many times I told him that he sounded like a drunken pirate with throat cancer, he just wouldn't stop. Drove me up the damn wall. It was a good thing he made me laugh and he was such a good father or there would have been no living with him."

"I remember once he was in the middle of _Volare_ once and you threw a wooden spoon at him," Louisa said.

"It was a rolling pin," Imelda corrected. "I almost got him."

"I thought you did get him," Tony said. "What was that scar on his chin from? I thought that was from when you hit him with a rolling pin."

"Tony!" Imelda admonished. "I had nothing to do with that. He got that scar from a bar fight."

Ziva's eyebrows shot up as she turned to look at Tony with something akin to triumph on her face. He knew what was coming before she said it. "A-ha! Bar fights run in the family."

Despite himself and his former insistence that Ziva was always the one responsible for their barroom melees, Tony broke into a smile. "I doubt he started the fight. It was probably one of his work colleagues that stepped on someone's toes, and the next thing you know, pool cues are flying."

"Apparently Tony and Ziva get into a lot of bar fights," Lina explained for the table. "They argued about this the other night."

"We're not arguing," they said in unison.

"And they're fights that occur while we're on the job and dealing with difficult witnesses," Tony added quickly. "They're not what we get involved in on Friday nights for fun."

"_Tesoro_, you don't let people punch Ziva, do you?" Rose asked, aghast.

"Sure," Tony said flippantly. "I'm an equal opportunity kind of guy."

Ziva snorted pointedly, but then explained the situation herself. "I have been in law enforcement or the armed forces since I was 18, and I grew up dodging bombs and violence in Israel," she said, and Tony could hear her effort to keep her voice soft and casual. "And I have been training in hand-to-hand combat since I was six. A punch is not a big deal to me. But if it ever turns into a big deal, I know Tony will have my back."

"And I do," Tony added. "Particularly in all the bar fights you get us into."

"I have never—"

"Every time," he cut in.

"Untrue."

"Tell me this doesn't happen often," Imelda said. "I love that you are a cop, _tesoro_, but I _hate_ that you are in danger."

"I'm not in danger," he assured her. "Most of my job is spent sitting at a desk."

Imelda didn't look convinced, but she chose to deal with the idea of losing her grandson in the line of duty by taking three large gulps of wine. Anthony, meanwhile, dealt with it by putting down his napkin, pushing back his chair and getting to his feet.

"Excuse me," he said. "I need to go out to the balcony for a while and pretend that I still smoke." He left the table.

"How did your parents meet, Nonna?" Clare asked. "Was it back in Italy?"

"_Si, si_," Imelda said, and Tony, Rose and Louisa all groaned.

"Here it comes," Rose said. "Get your tissues."

Imelda scowled at her without too much weight. "Be quiet, Rose," she said, and then smiled at her granddaughters. "Mamma was singing in a bar to entertain the soldiers at the beginning of the war when my father wandered in one night. He wasn't in the army then. He was passing through her little town that night and decided to stop for a drink. So he took a seat at a tiny little table to the left of the stage, and then out walked my mother and she started to sing. My father always said it was love at first song. She was up there, lit by a spotlight and in a flowing red dress."

"The red dress," Tony recited with his aunts, and then joined them in laughter.

"All of you, shut up," Imelda said with a wave of her hand. "Right up until the day he died, if you asked him, he could still remember every feature of that dress. It flowed from the arms and waist, and there was a red belt with purple flowers attached. He spent the whole night listening to her, watching her and waiting for her to finish so that he could get a moment to speak with her. And when she finally finished and he approached her, he was struck dumb. He was always the most charming man and could talk his way out of anything." She paused and looked over at Tony. "Just like you, _tesoro_. But when he got close to her, he couldn't form a sentence. And so he sang to her instead. Mamma said that by the end of it she knew she was going to marry him. Before she even knew his name or who he was."

"I guess he was a better singer than your husband," Clare said.

Imelda threw her head back and laughed. "He certainly was, my darling."

"How long were they married?" Ziva asked.

"More than 50 years," Imelda said, and then her eyes drifted to Tony. "Some people are so lucky. My parents, myself and Roberto. We found each other when we were so young, and had so many wonderful years together. Other people, it takes them longer to settle down. But the quest is still worth it."

Tony dipped his head. The message had been received, loud and clear. But he wasn't prepared to get into another discussion about the quest he was on, and who might be waiting for him at the end of the ride. He pushed his chair back and started collecting the empty dinner plates around him.

"Did you make tiramisu for dessert, Nonna?"

"Of course I did. But let's have a five-minute break."

Rose stood up with Tony and started helping to collect the plates. When Ziva reached for one to help, three old Italian women yelled at their guest to stop, and so she clasped her hands together in her lap. One by one the others left the table to go to the kitchen, the bathroom, or to check their cell phones, and so Ziva took the opportunity to head out to the balcony to talk to Tony's father.

Tony had been telling her all night that she was supposed to be on his side, and on the issue of his father she absolutely was. But she was curious about this man who was causing her normally gregarious and calm partner twist himself into knots of worry, disappointment and hurt. It was not her place to take the man to task for his treatment of his son over the years. She did not know the man, she had not grown up in their house and she would never understand the family politics, history and complexities that had caused them to make the decisions that made their relationship what it was. But if she got a better sense of who Anthony senior was, it was her hope that it would better equip her to support his son.

Anthony was leaning against the balcony with his arms on the railing as he looked out at the city lights and the Potomac beyond. He looked over his shoulder as Ziva's heels clicked against the tile, and then gave her a smile similar to the ones Tony reserved for beautiful women who distracted him. She did not bother to roll her eyes like she would have at Tony, but gave him a polite smile in return and walked across the balcony to stand beside him.

"How are you, Mr DiNozzo?" she asked, starting with the obvious topic of his health and wellbeing.

Anthony angled himself a little more in her direction. "Oh, honey. You're Tony's family, and that makes you my family. You can call me Anthony."

"Thank you."

"I'm doing good," he said, and then gestured back towards the hotel suite with his chin. "This night, this is what I needed. All my kids together. Finally, after so long." He winked at her. "Feels good for the soul."

"I'm sure," Ziva said with a nod. She couldn't imagine how carrying around such a huge secret from his family could have affected him over the years, but she'd kept her own in the past and sometimes it felt like those secrets could crush you from within.

Anthony leaned towards her, as if sharing a secret. "My mother is still very angry with me."

_No kidding_, Ziva wanted to say. But she kept it diplomatic. "Well, the important thing is that now she knows the truth. And that she has met her grandchildren. She strikes me as the type of woman who loves to have grandchildren."

"Oh, yes," he said with a chuckle, before sobering and looking at her with apprehension. "Is, uh, is Tony still mad at me?"

Again, Ziva fought the urge to roll her eyes and instead took the diplomatic path. If she got into the middle of this, Tony would not be happy about it. "Perhaps you should speak to him," she said carefully. "He loves Lina and Clare."

Anthony melted into a proud smile. It was clear he was besotted with his daughters. "They're wonderful girls."

"Yes, they are."

"You got brothers or sisters?" he asked.

Ziva smiled politely as her chest panged with regret. "No. I used to, but they passed away."

Anthony's face fell into an expression of sympathy, and her turned further towards her and put a light hand on the back of her shoulder. "Oh, I'm sorry, honey. I didn't know."

Ziva shook her head. "I would not expect you to."

"Are your parents around?"

Again, Ziva shook her head. "No. My mother passed away a long time ago, and my father lives in Israel."

"You don't see him much?" Anthony guessed.

"No."

Anthony looked fleetingly hurt, and Ziva assumed he was projecting his own situation onto hers. "That's a shame."

It was not a conversation that Ziva was interested in having, so she just smiled noncommittally and changed the subject. "The, uh, Mafioso was just telling us the story of how your grandparents met."

Anthony chuckled at her use of the nickname. "You know, up until the day he died, my grandfather could tell you exactly what my grandmother was wearing on the night they met."

A smile stretched Ziva's face. She was already fond of the story. "A red dress with flowing sleeves and purple flowers."

"Of course, none of us know if that's the truth," he confided. "My nonna always said she didn't remember, and we all just took his word for it. He might've been lying to embellish the tale, but I was inclined to believe him."

"Why?"

Anthony's smile turned soft, and he gazed out at the city. "Because I remember what Beth was wearing the first time we met."

"Tony's mother?" Ziva asked softly.

He nodded slowly, and his smile grew as the memory of their meeting took hold of him. "We were at a Christmas party. She was the daughter of one of my father's business associates, and the party was so dull and boring until she walked into the room and lit it up. The air just crackled, you know? Made the hair on the back of my neck stand up." He waved his hand at his neck. "She was in this gold dress with…what are those straps that go around your neck?"

"A halter neck," Ziva replied, smiling now too.

He clicked his fingers. "That's it. A halter neck. Red shoes. Golden hair and the brightest smile." His eyes fluttered closed for a moment. "God, she was beautiful. And I went right up to her and said, _'Darling, finally, you're here. I've been waiting all my life for you.'_ She tried to play aloof, but there was a twinkle in her eye that told me to keep going. So I did." He threw Ziva a wide smile. "We were married by the next Christmas. She was pregnant with Tony by the Christmas after that."

Ziva smiled back at him, finding it difficult to dislike the man when he was speaking so openly about what he seemed to hold as one of the most important moments of his life. And yes, he was beginning to turn on the charm, although she didn't think that he realized it. It seemed to come naturally to him. Tony was the same. Ziva often thought that her partner was at his most charming when he was just being himself and not thinking about how he appeared to people. When he _tried_ to be charming though? That was when he irritated her. And she had a feeling Anthony would be the same.

"Women don't remember that stuff," Anthony told her with authority. "You remember when the two of you met and probably even what was said. But you don't remember what you were wearing. Men do. When they fall in love like I did, like my father did, they remember. It might not be love at first sight, but there's always something in us that just knows when you meet _her_ that something is happening. Something important. And we remember."

It was a romantic notion, to be sure. And a part of her—the part that hoped for happily ever after despite knowing better—might have liked to believe it. But she didn't. Not that she would argue with him about it. "I had not heard that before," she said.

"Trust me," he said with a knowing smile. "You know, Ziva, I'm glad Tony found someone like you. I can tell that you're good for him."

The comment knocked Ziva out of the nice moment, and she shook her head firmly. "Oh, no. Tony and I are not…"

"Yeah, yeah, I know," Anthony said, but his smile suggested that he didn't. "He told me. But it doesn't mean you're not good for him. You came along with him tonight, and every time he looks at you he seems to relax a little more. He needs good people like you around him."

Ziva felt her cheeks warm, and she glanced away before she embarrassed herself. "Thank you. He has been good for me, too."

Anthony's eyes wandered towards the balcony doors again, and a little of the pride that had graced his face when he spoke of his daughters came back. "He's grown up so much. You know, as a parent you always carry this feeling like your kids are always _kids_. And when you look at them, sometimes you're surprised to find that they've grown into adults." He paused, opened his mouth, hesitated again, and then turned his back on the suite in favor of looking at the safety of the city again.

"I always think of him as that broken-hearted eight-year-old sitting in the front row of the church in his best suit as he said goodbye to his mother," he said, and Ziva could hear his voice tightening. "And now he's grown. Grown into a better man than I ever was. Beth would be so proud."

A lump formed in Ziva's throat as she listened and mourned the long ago loss of a woman she didn't know. She wondered what hopes Beth DiNozzo had for her son and whether she ever told him, and what path he would have taken if she'd lived. Would he have become a different man? Or was he always destined to be the man she'd fallen in love with?

"I wish I could take credit for him," Anthony said with a sigh. "He's got my handsome face and all my charm, but everything else is Beth." He turned misty eyes on Ziva. "She was a beauty. Sharp as a tack. So funny, and she loved that boy like…" He stopped abruptly as his voice gave out, and he shook his head at himself in embarrassment at getting so emotional. "God, it's been 30 years, but I still…" He stopped again, and Ziva caught sight of a tear breaking free before he forced a smile, kissed her cheek briefly, and then patted her arm softly. "Excuse me, honey. I should see if Rose needs any help."

Ziva turned and watched with a hammering heart as he slowly made his way back inside. Clearly he had said so much more than he had intended, and Ziva had to wonder how long it had been since he had talked about the loss of his first wife. More importantly, had he ever talked to Tony about it, particularly since he stopped drinking? She had the impression that Tony thought Anthony had thrown away more of his mother's memory with every new wife that he took, but after Anthony's unintended display of emotion she had to wonder if the opposite was true; that he clung to every memory so tightly that he couldn't let go. On the other hand, perhaps his heart attack had simply brought on a bout of nostalgia. Ziva didn't know the man anywhere near well enough to decide.

She watched Anthony put a hand on Tony's shoulder as he passed by, and Tony stopped refilling Ziva's wine glass to watch him go. Then he looked out to the balcony and gave Ziva a questioning look. She wasn't entirely sure how to play it, and ended up giving him a sad smile. Tony picked up her wine glass and came out to join her.

"What was that about?" he asked, handing the wine glass over. "He looked all emotional and human."

Ziva frowned fleetingly but went easy on him. "He was just talking to me about your mother."

Tony stared at her impassively for a moment before finally lifting his eyebrows and pushing out a bitter chuckle. He walked around her to take up the position his father had been in moments before, leaning against the railing as he looked out at the city. Ziva mirrored his position, but unlike when Anthony had been there, she stood so close to Tony that her arm was pressed against his.

"You never talk about her," she said softly.

"You never talk about your mother either," Tony replied, although there wasn't the hint of an argument in his tone.

"No. I suppose not."

Tony dropped his head to look down at the street directly below them. She knew he didn't want to ask it, but he had to know. "What did he say?"

"That she would be proud of the man you had become," she said, nudging him a little. "That he missed her. That he remembers what she was wearing when they met."

A genuine smile broke over his face, and he turned his head to look at her. "That's a recurring theme in my family. The men always swear on the Bible that they remember what their wives were wearing when they met. Kind of a twist on love at first sight, I guess."

"Do you believe it?"

He looked out at the city again. "Maybe."

Ziva glanced towards the suit and then nudged him again. "I like your grandmother."

"She's something special," Tony said with a nod. "I'm sorry they've been interrogating you."

"It is nothing I can't handle." Frankly, he had set them up to be much worse that what they were.

He looked at her again. "I'm sorry that Rose was stroking your hair."

"That was a little strange," she allowed, but with an amused smile. "I like her too. And Louisa."

"Yeah? They're big fans of yours," he said, and then took her glass off her to take a big sip. "I think they might like you more than they like me."

"I do not think that is possible."

He turned to smile at her, and after a few silent moments Ziva heard a _click_ from behind them. They both turned to see Mia with her camera. She smiled at them, and then walked back into the suite without a word.

"And then there's that," Tony sighed.

Ziva took her glass back. "It is just a photo."

Rose stepped onto the balcony. "If I'm not interrupting, come inside. The first dessert course is ready."

Ziva turned surprised eyes on Tony. "_First_ dessert course?"

"Yeah, first of two," he said, and put a hand on her back to guide her back to the suite. "Nonna wasn't joking when she talked about a food coma."

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><p>With a chunk of tiramisu and two cannoli still making their way down to his overfilled stomach, Tony slowly rose from the table and shuffled towards his father in the lounge room. Anthony had retreated to the comfort of the couch after the first dessert course (which he hadn't touched), and Tony wanted to check in to make sure he was still doing okay. For a man who had only recently been released from the hospital after a heart attack and surgery to have a stent put in, tonight had probably been exhausting for him. Tony hoped he hadn't overtaxed himself.<p>

Anthony's head was resting against the high back of the couch and his eyes were closed when Tony approached. Tony figured he was probably having a nap, and feeling the food coma coming over himself, he decided to take a seat on the other end of the couch and relax quietly for a little while before either returning to the table where the others were talking and laughing, or dragging Ziva out the door and going home.

He lowered himself onto the couch, leaned back, and rubbed a hand over his distended stomach. The Mafioso being in town was _not_ good for his diet.

"Was it good?"

Tony rolled his head to the side to look at his father. Anthony was looking at him under heavy lids and with one corner of his mouth pulled back in a smile.

"The tiramisu or the cannoli?"

"Both."

Tony nodded. "Yeah. But I think I just got type two diabetes."

Anthony snorted.

"How are you feeling, Dad?"

"Strong as an ox," he murmured, closing his eyes again.

"Sure that's not stubborn as an ox?"

Anthony shrugged. "One or the other."

Tony glanced towards the dining room to make sure no one was coming their way, and then broached the subject that had been on his mind through dessert. "So, Ziva said that you were talking to her about Mom."

His father's eyes opened again, but instead of looking at Tony he stared off out the window. "I've been thinking about her a lot lately, kid," he admitted.

Tony swallowed hard to dislodge the lump from his throat. "You never talk to me about her."

The comment drew Anthony's attention, and he looked over at Tony with sadness and regret plainly written on his face. "I know. And I'm sorry. I still miss her like a limb." He drew a deep breath. "She's still the love of my life."

Tony held his gaze, unsure of what to say. From the time he'd been sent to boarding school until just a few days ago, he couldn't recall ever having a conversation about his mother with his father. He'd always been to drunk or too angry, and Tony always felt like bringing his mom into a conversation would be a surefire way to start an argument or to get the phone hung up on him. He learnt not to ask. Especially when a new wife was within earshot, and that was more often than not. Tony had been left feeling like Anthony just wanted to forget about his mother and move on with his life without looking back. But maybe that wasn't the case. Because Anthony sure as hell sounded sincere, and Tony was just now beginning to think that he was still grieving for his first wife.

"I wish she could see you today, kid," Anthony said. "See who you've turned yourself into. She was always so invested in looking after other people, and I know she would've been proud of the path you've cut for yourself."

The lump returned to Tony's throat, and this time it was joined by a burning sensation behind his eyes as tears started to gather. He quickly blinked them back.

"I think she would have liked Ziva a lot," Anthony said with a grin.

Tony groaned loudly and rubbed at the mild throbbing in his temple that was starting up again. "Dad, me and Ziva are just co-workers."

"Oh. So, you wouldn't mind if I made a pass at her?"

Tony knew he was just trying to rile him up, but he couldn't help biting back. "Yes, I would mind very much. And I think Ziva probably would as well."

"She likes me."

Tony wasn't so sure. "She likes you because you're my father."

"Why would she bother liking me if you're just co-workers?" Anthony asked, determined to push the subject. "Shouldn't she just show me polite indifference?"

"Maybe it is polite indifference," Tony argued, spreading his hands. "She's Israeli. Could be a cultural thing."

"She let me kiss her cheek."

Tony sighed heavily. "Dad."

Anthony pushed himself up from his reclined position, and leaned forward towards his son. "Can we talk seriously for a moment?"

Tony looked at him warily. "I doubt it."

"Oh, because you're so mature," Anthony taunted.

Tony shrugged, conceding the point.

"You weren't made to be alone, son," he stated, pinning Tony with his gaze. "You've never been real good at it. You've always gotten your energy from being around other people. You've always needed people to love."

Tony thought it was a bit rich for the man who'd been absent for most of his life to be making grand statements about what Tony needed. But as it happened, he was right. So Tony deflected his discomfort with a cheap dig at him. "I guess the apple doesn't fall far from the tree."

"I guess not."

"Except I don't marry everyone I date."

For a few heartbeats, Anthony looked utterly furious and ready to throw one of his infamous tantrums. But then his shoulders slumped, his chest fell, and the fury gave way to deep sadness. "I had my one love taken away from me without getting a say in it," he said softly. "I argued until I was out of breath and out of a voice. But in the end, cancer will do what it'll do, no matter who you are and how much you love."

At the sight of tears in his father's eyes, Tony looked down, properly shamed by the callous comment he'd just made. But Anthony forgave quickly.

"You still have a say in how your love story ends. You still have a voice. You still have a chance. And when you sit at my feet and you see what having no choice does to a man, but you _still_ won't speak up?" He shook his head, confounded. "I don't understand what's wrong with you. I know you're not stupid and I know you're not a coward. Why is it so hard for you to go after what you want?"

Tony stared at his hands and tried to take an even breath. It was clear to him what his father was suggesting. "Why do you assume that she's what I want?"

Anthony looked at him like he was crazy to try to deny it, and Tony decided that the Mafioso had indeed spent the day gossiping about a relationship they hadn't even witnessed until a few hours ago.

"Look," he said on a sigh. "Things are fine between us as they are. Everyone's happy enough. There's no need to rock the boat." It was the truth for the moment. But with every passing day and every new conversation from his family that made going after his partner sound so damn easy and logical, he didn't know how much longer it would be before it was a lie.

His father seemed to think it already was. "Yeah? I don't think so. I think you're about as happy as me. And I want better for you. For all my kids." He paused and looked over his shoulder. The others were still talking and yelling and laughing, so the coast was clear for Anthony to dispense more advice that Tony wasn't sure he could process right now. "I want you to have what I had with your mother. I want you to let yourself fall completely, utterly, hopelessly in love with her. I want you to let her make you laugh and worry and learn. I want you to never he able to imagine life without her." He put his hand on Tony's shoulder. "I want you to be brave, Tony."

By the end of the pep talk Tony's heart was pounding and he was almost—_almost_—ready to march into the dining room and take the great leap. But there was still so much that his father didn't understand, and it wasn't as easy as just making the decision to do it. He took a breath and calmed down.

"For the record, that speech was much better than the one you gave me before I left for college."

"Yeah? What did I say then?"

"Just don't fuck up."

Anthony pursed his lips. "Hunh," he grunted. "Short and to the point. Perhaps not words to live by, though." He patted Tony's shoulder a few times. "You've got to fuck up every now and then."

"Yeah."

Anthony pointed to himself. "I'm much wiser now, Tony. And less drunk. You should listen to me. You've gotta pay attention to the good things when you've got them. Enjoy them and know how lucky you are. Because, kid, it could all be gone tomorrow. And the worst thing to have is regrets and wishing you'd done things differently."

The words hit Tony dead centre in the chest. In his line of work he met people all the time whose lives had changed in an instant, and all for the worse. How many times had he heard the family member wish that they'd told a suddenly deceased person one more time that they loved them, or that they were sorry, or that they forgave them? He never wanted to be that guy, but when he was so focused on closing cases and trying to give everyone else some peace of mind, it was so easy to forget that one day, the same regrets might fill his own heart. And that scared the hell out of him.

"Okay," he said as Lina came into the living room. "I'll think about it."

"Dad?"

Anthony nodded to Tony and then looked up at Lina. "What's up, pumpkin?"

"Nonna wants to take a photo of us all."

"We should make it quick. I'm ready for bed."

The others started filing in to the living room, and Tony's eyes fell on Ziva laughing with Clare. He knew that when he got to his father's age, and probably much earlier than that, he would regret never having told her how he felt or what he wanted. But the fact still remained that for now, things were complicated by the professional relationship they had and the responsibilities they had to the team. It didn't matter how many times his aunts advised him to put himself first, or his father told him to go after what he wanted. Now was not the time to start living without regrets.

On the other hand, maybe it was.

* * *

><p><strong>Hope that was worth the wait for you all. <strong>


	12. Chapter 12

**A/N: It's been so long. Most of you have been so patient, others have not (-_-), but all of you have been so kind with your feedback. So I won't make you wait any longer. I've actually finished the last three chapters of this thing, so I'll post this and the next two just a day or two after each other. Then we can all move on with our lives – me without guilt and you guys without ill will towards me.  
>Disclaimer: Disclaimed.<strong>

* * *

><p>Two weeks after the DiNozzo clan had finally left D.C., Tony felt that his life had finally returned to normal. While he received a phone call from at least one family member every day, he was back at work full time, he had his nights to himself, and the only stress he carried was related to the responsibility of solving cases, rather than the responsibility of being the anchor for his family. The fact brought him a physical sense of relief.<p>

He loved his family. He really did. They were crazy and nosy and noisy, but with the distance between them back to normal he looked back on the time spent in their overbearing company with some humor and a touch of affection. Not even multiple messages they'd all left for him during the day had brought on the stabbing pain in his temple that was a symptom of spending time in their company. But perhaps that was because he hadn't returned any of their messages. Or listened to them. The team had spent the morning at a crime scene and the late afternoon getting their bearings on all the known players in the case. He didn't have time to talk to his nonna about who she saw at aqua aerobics class, or to Rose about what his personal goals for the next five years should be. He'd deal with that tomorrow before Lina arrived to spend the weekend with him as planned. Tonight was his to waste as he wanted, and he intended to spend it sacked out on the couch with three James Bond movies and some beer. He did not intend to use his brain for any higher function than breathing, swallowing and blinking. And the only person he would answer the phone for was Gibbs.

Before putting Casino Royale into the Blu-ray player he went through his movie night ritual. Beer on the coffee table so he wouldn't have to get up (the first one would go down so fast that the second wouldn't have a chance to warm up, and he had a feeling that two would be his limit tonight). Alarm on his phone set for 0530. All blinds in the apartment closed to block out the ambient light. Blanket at the ready and slung over the back of the couch. Front door completely bolted and all lights in the apartment turned off. Once everything had been prepared, Tony laid back on the couch, played the movie, and then swallowed half his beer in one go.

He was asleep before the opening titles ran.

Sometime later he was woken from a dead sleep by a harsh knock on his door. His pulse was already racing by the time his eyes snapped open, and at the second sharp knock he sat up quickly and spilt half a bottle of beer over his thighs.

"Damn it!" he hissed, and wiped his hands on his knees. "I'm coming!" he called out.

He got to his feet and squinted at the clock on the Blu-ray player, but couldn't make out the blue fuzz. He reached out blindly to slap at the wall in the vicinity of the light switch, making contact on his third attempt, and rubbed his beer-stained palms into his eyes as he approached the door. Ziva's influence (but he preferred to call it habit) had him reaching for his backup gun in the hall table, and he held it down by his thigh as he looked through the peephole. He didn't know who he was expecting to see, but he was still surprised to see Lina's drawn face. He 'd thought she wasn't supposed to arrive until the following night. Had he gotten the days wrong? He quickly turned the locks and opened the door.

"Hey," he said, his surprise evident in his voice. "I didn't think you were coming until tomorrow."

Lina sniffed and looked up at him with red eyes. She crossed her arms tightly over her chest. "I know," she said softly. "Are you busy? Is Ziva here?"

Tony shook his head and waved his hand holding his gun towards the apartment, ushering her in. "No, it's fine. Come in."

Lina glanced at the gun and then back at him nervously. "What're you…?" She trailed off, and Tony jumped to put the gun back in the hall table drawer.

"Sorry, I was just being security conscious."

Lina shuffled in and closed the door behind her. "Do you usually have to hold guns on people who come to your house?"

He would have made a joke, but Lina's demeanor gave him the impression that it wasn't the time. "No. What's up? You seem…blue."

Lina dumped her overnight bag on the floor and swallowed hard. "I guess you didn't get to return anyone's calls today."

A strong stab of guilt lashed through Tony's gut. He needed a break from the drama, but now he felt bad about it. "I was at a scene all day. I haven't gotten to your messages. What happened?"

Lina looked up at him with achingly sad eyes, and then looked away just as her expression cracked and tears started to fall. "Dad's gone," she pushed out, before breaking into sobbing tears.

Tony frowned with the distinct feeling that he was missing something. "Gone where?" he asked. "Did he decide to recuperate in that weird resort in Florida that he likes? Because I don't think he's supposed to fly so soon after—"

"Tony," Lina cut in, closing her eyes and shaking her head as her shoulders sagged. "He's _gone_."

The words hadn't changed but the meaning had, and now Tony understood her. _Gone_ meant _dead_. Lina was delivering him a death notification and he didn't even realize. She dropped her face into her hands and started sobbing again, and when Tony recovered from his momentary shock he instinctively reached out to wrap his arms around this girl who, just a few weeks ago, had been a complete stranger to him.

"Oh, Lina," he sighed into her hair. "I'm so sorry."

Lina's arms went around his waist and he felt her clutch at the back of his shirt as her sobbing intensified. For the next minute he just held her as she purged her grief over the loss of a man who had been a wonderful father to her. But while Tony felt genuine sorrow for her and Clare, whatever he felt for himself was a confusing mix of emotion that was probably a fitting tribute to the relationship he and Anthony had shared. He felt regret that he and his father had never had a perfect relationship. Relief that it was finally over. Guilt over his relief. And a whole lot of sadness because he didn't think he was sad _enough_.

He thought he was probably going to go to hell for that.

He gave Lina a comforting squeeze and kissed the top of her head. "When did it happen?" he asked her, keen to get the details now.

Lina dragged herself out of the embrace and wiped her cheeks. "This morning," she replied with a croaky voice.

"What happened?"

Lina lifted one shoulder in a shrug. "He had another heart attack," she said. "He's been at Nonna's, and Rose was there. She called this morning and said that he didn't, um…" She broke off when a fresh set of tears came to her eyes.

Tony put his arm around her shoulders and brought her into the living room. She sat heavily on the couch and he grabbed a box of tissue off the shelf before sitting beside her. He handed her the box and Lina wiped her eyes and blew her nose. Tony rubbed her back soothingly.

"It's okay," he told her. "Take your time."

Lina nodded and then wrinkled her nose and looked around them. "You smell like beer," she told him.

Tony grabbed a tissue to wipe up a small puddle on the coffee table. "Sorry. I had an accident."

Lina reached out for the bottle he'd left on the table and held it up to the light before swallowing the two inches that were left in the bottom. "Is it okay if I stay here tonight?"

"Of course it is."

"So, can I have another beer?"

He understood the urge, but he'd dealt with grief enough times in the past by burying it under whisky and vodka. It never helped. And while Lina was an adult who would work that out herself one day, he didn't want it to be now.

"Why don't you tell me what happened first?"

Lina put the bottle down, closed her eyes and took a deep but shaky breath. "Rose said that when she went in to get him up this morning, he was already gone. They called an ambulance but it was way too late."

"They found him still in bed?" Tony asked. At the shrug/nod Lina gave him, he said, "Well, it's a small comfort but he probably went peacefully."

Lina nodded, even as she teared up again.

"Where's Clare?" he asked.

Lina reached for another tissue. "Mom's driving her out to Nonna's in Long Island."

"Have you talked to her?"

"Yeah. Well, kind of," she revised. "I talked, she screamed and cried."

A stab of sympathy that would have brought him to his knees had he not already been sitting down went through him. _Poor kid_, he thought. He'd seen a lot of kids around her age who had lost a parent, and while there was never really a good time for it, coping with the loss during those teen years seemed to be the hardest. At 15, 16, 17 years old, you were stuck in that phase where you were trying to become and adult and find independence from your parents. But you were still a kid and didn't have the maturity or experience to help you deal with trauma. How they ended up coping with it, Tony wasn't sure. He'd only ever been there at the beginning to deliver the bad news. He recalled now that he'd made a promise to his dad before he'd gone in for surgery to look after Clare and Lina. But, Christ, he didn't have a clue how to do that.

"Okay," he said on a deep breath, and pulled himself back into the conversation before he scared himself into paralysis. "I'll get us on a flight out there tomorrow."

Lina nodded at him before she bit her lip and looked at him fearfully. "What am I supposed to do now?"

Tony frowned and shook his head. "What do you mean?"

"Without him," Lina elaborated. "I mean, I haven't lived with him for a while. And when I did live with him, he was, you know, drunk a lot. But he was still always there to talk to. And now he's not. What am I supposed to do?"

On the face of it, it was such a simple question. But there was no easy answer. None that would give her the comfort she needed. None that would ever really be enough for her. None that could make her feel the same way she did 24 hours ago. And knowing that, knowing that there was this person here who he barely knew but deeply loved who was in pain and feeling lost? That was the thing that made tears prick the back of his eyes for the first time that night.

He put his arm around her shoulders again and Lina easily leaned into his side when he gave her another hug.

"I know it's not the same," he said into her hair. "But you can always talk to me. I promise I'll always be here for you. Okay?"

He felt her nod as she sobbed out a soft _'yes'_ into his shoulder.

"You've just got to be patient with me, because I don't have a clue what I'm doing," he continued.

Lina's sobs turned into chuckles. "I'm sure you'll do fine."

"I don't know," he said warily, attempting to get another chuckle out of her. "I haven't dealt with women in their 20s for a long time. And I don't think I was ever very good at it."

Lina sat upright again and reached for some more tissues. "Ziva would've been in her 20s at some point in your relationship, wouldn't she?"

Tony was the one to laugh this time. "Yeah, but I _definitely_ didn't deal with her very well."

"But she loves you anyway," Lina said. "I have faith that you'll be able to handle me and Clare."

"Hmm," he grunted, stuck on the first part of her statement. But now was not the time to discuss that. "Lina, I'm not him. And I never will be. But I can love you as much as he did. And I can look out for you like he did. And I'm sure I can embarrass you like he did." He paused as she chuckled again. "And I won't let you forget him. Or how much he loved you and wanted the best for you."

Lina's eyes welled with tears, but they fell over her smile. "I'm really glad that he finally let us meet, Tony."

And with that, Tony let his first tear fall. "Yeah. Me too."

* * *

><p>When Lina headed to the bathroom to take a long, hot shower, Tony went to the kitchen to call Rose. His stomach was tight with guilt over ignoring her phone calls all day when she clearly had such important news to share, and he knew that she'd be disappointed. He resolved to be completely up front with her about his actions in the hope that she would respect his honesty and decide <em>not<em> to rip his head off and give him the scolding of a lifetime.

Despite the late hour, Rose answered after the first ring. "Tony!" she cried, sounding a little out of breath.

"Rose, I'm so sorry I haven't been answering," he started, but Rose didn't seem that interested in explanations.

"Oh, _tesoro_, I'm so glad you called," she said quickly and loudly. "What a day! Are you home, love?"

"Yeah, I'm here—"

"I was beginning to think something had happened to you!" she went on, and Tony started to suspect that a few bottles of red wine had been passed around between his aunts and grandmother that night. "We were all calling and you wouldn't answer!"

"I know, I'm sorry," he started again. "I spent the day at a crime scene and I didn't want to talk while I was there."

"Tony, my darling, I'm so sorry but I have some bad news."

Tony nodded at the counter top. "I know. I know about Dad. Lina's here."

"She is?" Rose practically yelled. "Thank God! She said she would call when she arrived but we didn't hear from her."

Tony defended his little sister. "Well, she's probably a bit absent-minded right now."

"Of course," Rose said. "So she told you about Anthony?"

"Yeah, she did," Tony said softly. "I'm really sorry, Rose."

"It's terrible!" Rose told him. "But between you and me and these four walls, I'm not that surprised."

Tony was, sort of, but he didn't really know what to say to her. "I guess."

"Are you all right, _tesoro_?"

"I'm okay," he assured her. "It's sad, but…I don't know," he said when he couldn't work out how to say what he was feeling without sounding like a jerk. The fact was, Anthony's apology for his behavior, a promise to try to make amends and an open discussion about how much he'd loved Tony's mother and wanted Tony to find that love himself hadn't been enough to make Tony grieve for him. Not now. Not yet. Maybe later after he had time to unpack all the emotion his father had crammed into his life lately and had worked through the havoc and mess he'd left behind. But not right now. He wasn't sure how Rose would take that, so he moved the spotlight onto someone else. "Lina said you found him?"

"Oh, my Lord," Rose muttered, and Tony heard glass clinking against glass on her end of the line. He imagined her pouring herself another glass of wine, but he didn't have long to reflect on the rampant abuse of alcohol in his genealogy before she launched into the story. "Tony, I came in to his room and I called out to him, and he didn't even acknowledge me. And I thought he was just being a little punk, because he said last night that he wanted to sleep in. We'd been up looking at photos on Louisa's pad thing. You know, the little computer?"

"Yeah, iPad," Tony supplied.

"Right. She spent all this time in the last few weeks transferring all these old photos onto her little pad thing, and we were up last night looking at them," she recapped. "We were getting depressed because clearly, gravity has now won the battle for our skin and none of us are as beautiful as we were."

Tony had to smile. "You're always beautiful, Rose."

"Sweet talker," she accused, and then took a detour on her story. "We found that photo of you and Anthony down on the beach at the back of Nonna's house. Do you remember it? You were on his shoulders with all this seaweed in your hands and you were trying to put it on his head."

His smile grew, and although he had a sneaking suspicion that Rose was purposely trying to bring up memories that would make Tony feel a little warmer towards his father, he didn't call her out on it. "Yeah, vaguely. I think I'd broken my arm."

"You'd fallen off the railing on Nonna's veranda," Rose told him, as if he didn't know. "I think you were five. You were wearing these red overalls with a picture of a duck on the chest."

An image of the overalls, a 1970s special that were made of soft corduroy, appeared in his head, clear as day. "I remember the overalls."

"They were your favorite," Rose said with a smile in her voice.

She was right, but to his 40-year-old sense of style they were also utterly vile. "Stop spreading malicious rumors," he admonished gently.

"_Tesoro_," she said on a sigh, and then got her story back on track. "Anyway, Anthony and Louisa and me were looking at the photos, and then we started a game of Scrabble. But then he got so tired. He said he wanted to sleep in this morning. So when I went in to wake him I thought he was just being stubborn. But then I touched him."

Rose went suddenly and uncharacteristically quiet. Tony knew she was trying to compose herself, and so he waited out the silence and gave her all the time she needed. It didn't take her long, and although her voice started off tight, it loosened up again as she continued her account of what had happened.

"He was cold, Tony. Freezing cold. And stiff as a board." She paused again, momentarily. "You know, it's a saying. People always say that. _Oh, he was stiff as a board_. But, Tony, we was _stiff as a damn board_."

Tony nodded knowingly. "Yeah."

"I've never seen a dead body before," Rose went on, picking up speed again. "I've lived 71 years and I've never seen a dead body."

"That's the way it's supposed to be, Rose," Tony told her, and craned his head to see around the kitchen wall to make sure Lina wasn't nearby before he continued. "No one's supposed to see dead bodies."

Rose sounded introspective. "He didn't look like himself. Well, he _did_," she backtracked. "But once I knew he was dead…I can't explain it. He just didn't look like himself."

Tony knew exactly what she meant. Something happened when the life drained out of a person. Science told him it had to do with muscles going slack. But sometimes, if he was feeling spiritual, he felt it had something to do with a person's soul leaving them. But whatever it was, once a person passed away, they just didn't look like themselves.

"Yeah, I know," he told Rose. "It happens."

Rose thought for a moment. "You have seen a lot of dead people."

Tony sighed heavily and nodded. "Too many."

"Anyone you know?" she asked carefully.

Despite his best efforts to keep them away, images of Kate Todd after her brains had splattered over his face, and of Jenny Shepard lying in a shocking amount of her own blood, entered his head. His heart thudded harder for a few moments and tears again pricked the back of his eyes. But he breathed through the horror and remained the steady rock Rose needed him to be.

"Yes," he replied evenly. "And they didn't look like themselves."

Rose 'tsk'ed to herself. "It's the darndest thing."

Tony moved the conversation along before she could dwell on it for too long. "How's Nonna?"

"Distraught," Rose said after a pause. "A bit angry with the world. But keeping her wits."

It was exactly what Tony had expected, and he felt it was a comfort that some things would always go the way they were meant to. "And Clare?"

Rose gasped dramatically. "Oh, my sweetheart. She's heartbroken. Just heartbroken. Her mother is here, too. Did you meet Fiona?"

"No, I haven't."

"She's lovely," Rose told him. "And she's keeping her arms tight around her little girl. Are you bringing Lina out tomorrow?"

"Yeah," Tony said, and walked over to grab his laptop from the table so that he could book some flights. "We'll fly out in the morning, probably. As soon as we can."

"How is she?" Rose asked with sympathy.

Tony again checked the living room for any sign of his sister before answering. "Heartbroken," he replied, deciding it was an apt description. "But keeping her wits about her."

"She's a DiNozzo," Rose said proudly.

Tony smirked as his laptop booted up. "She's not as dramatic as you, though."

"Well, she's still young."

That sounded like a warning, and Tony thought it was best to end the conversation before Rose got to plotting Lina's future. "Okay. Give everyone my love. Get some rest, and I'll see you in the morning."

"_Tesoro_?" she called before he hung up.

"Yeah?"

She spoke bluntly to him. "I feel you will probably attempt to look after everyone else when you arrive before you look after yourself. But I want you to know, you don't need to perform for us."

For a moment Tony thought that over as he watched the airline webpage load. He appreciated what she was saying, and he even saw the benefit to it. But now it was his job as a brother to make sure that his younger sisters knew they could rely on him. Not to mention his own ingrained need to keep control in situations like this.

"I know, Rose," he said. "But I'm okay."

"Okay," she said, giving up the fight. "Sleep well. I love you. I'll see you in the morning."

Tony chuckled at her bringing back a goodnight tradition from his childhood, and delivered the next line that was expected of him. "And a kiss for you, Aunt Rose. I love you, too."

"_Buona notte_."

"_Laila tov, motek,_" he replied automatically, before catching himself with a shake of his head. "I mean, good night."

* * *

><p>Not surprisingly, Tony could only get seats the next morning on a flight that left just before midday and cost double what they would have just a few days before. But it didn't matter. They were booked and confirmed and would be at his nonna's grand house by the beach in the Hamptons by mid-afternoon.<p>

It was after midnight by the time Lina lay down to get some sleep in his bedroom. Tony took a pillow and a blanket to the couch and turned the TV on. He didn't intend to watch anything, but he needed the background noise to cover his voice when he made his next phone call.

"David," Ziva answered, sounding sleepy but alert.

"It's me," he said softly, consciously keeping his voice down. "Sorry, I probably woke you."

"Hmm," she grunted. "What's wrong?"

It occurred to him that he didn't know how to say it. So he took the long road. "Lina's here."

"Oh. I did not think she was due to arrive until tomorrow," Ziva said on a yawn.

"She wasn't. But…something happened."

"What?"

Tony swallowed the lump in his throat and wondered why he'd waited until _now_ to become properly emotional. "Dad," he said tightly.

The sleepiness in Ziva's voice almost disappeared. "Is he all right?"

"No," Tony said shakily. "He, uh, he passed away this morning," he said, and as soon as the words were out he started crying silently.

He heard the rustle of bed sheets across the line before Ziva's voice came back, heavy with empathy. "Oh, Tony. I am sorry."

"Yeah," he breathed out.

"How?"

He swallowed hard and cleared his throat. "Um, heart attack, they think. He's been staying at Nonna's with Rose and Louisa."

"You said they were all taking the opportunity to try to work out their affairs," Ziva said, recalling a conversation they'd had two days ago.

"Right. Rose found him. It sounds like he died in his sleep."

Ziva's voice was soft. "Well, given the circumstances that is, um…"

"A relief for the girls," he finished, focusing on them so that he wouldn't feed the sorrow that had fallen over him in the last few minutes. He wasn't ready to welcome it just yet.

But Ziva, bless her, had (correctly) assumed that the reason he'd called her was to find some support. As such, she was focused on him. "How are you?"

He considered the question for a long time, but the silence offered no clear answers. "I don't know how to answer that," he finally admitted.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

"Not really," he said quickly, but then revised his answer just as fast. "Yeah, maybe. I don't know."

"What do you want to talk about?" she asked gently.

He thought about that for a long time, too. He could think of a hundred things, some of them inappropriate for the situation. So, just like he usually did when he was in a situation he didn't know how to handle, he made a joke. "Tell me what you're wearing."

Ziva chuckled for him, but she didn't respond. She was going to wait him out. He should have guessed that she'd go down the route of tough love. It was such a _Ziva_ thing. And if he was going to be honest, it was probably why he wanted to talk to her right now.

"I won't be in tomorrow," he told her, covering off the practical side of things for the moment. "Me and Lina will fly out before lunch, and I'll probably be there for a few days."

"Of course."

"We've just started an investigation," he began apologetically, but Ziva cut him off.

"Tony, it does not matter."

"I just know I've been away a lot lately," he continued. "I haven't been pulling my weight."

"Stop it," she said firmly. "We understand. And one day you will carry extra weight for one of us."

"Gibbs'll be pissed."

"No, he won't," Ziva told him sensibly.

"I didn't leave my notes from the interview with the local PD at the office," he said.

Ziva sighed. "McGee was with you. I am sure he has it covered."

He tried to think of some more business he could bring up, but they both knew he was just stalling. And what was the point of that? Ziva would wait him out and keep him on the line until he told her what he was thinking. He may as well get started.

"Why did he do this to me?" he asked her, as if she really would have the answer. "Why did he come back into my life without warning and turn it upside down, only to leave it again just as suddenly?"

"He left you with three sisters," Ziva reminded him gently. "And with a relationship with your aunts and grandmother you haven't had since you were a teenager."

She made sense, but he had to laugh. "Oh, God. I don't think I can handle having the Mafioso back in my life full time. I love them, Ziva, but you met them. They're insane."

He expected her to laugh with him, but instead she became more serious.

"Tony, I know you do not want to be anything like your father," she began. "So do not treat your family with the same absence he treated you with. I understand that you think they are difficult to deal with, and they are. But do not push them back again now. Do not resist this connection because it was your father who made it."

Tears formed in his eyes again as the stress of dealing with his family and the exhaustion they created fell on his shoulders all at once. It was hard dealing with them. It was _so hard_. But he really did love them. They were strong and formidable women, loyal and brave, funny and welcoming. And even after almost 25 years of not talking to them regularly, they still loved him fiercely and were determined to help him find and keep some happiness in his life. As high maintenance as they were, he really didn't want to lose contact with them again.

"I won't," he told her with a thick voice. "Maybe it's because I've had two weeks away from them and it's a case of absence making the heart grow finder. But I am looking forward to seeing them again."

"Good."

"Maybe not right now, though," he added.

"Why not?"

He rubbed his hand through his hair as he tried to work out how to word it without coming across as a jerk. "I guess because they're not exactly what I need right now."

Ziva paused, but when she couldn't read his mind she had to ask. "What do you need?"

"I don't know," he sighed. It was his motto for the evening. "Someone to understand why I'm not that upset that he's gone."

She paused again, and he squeezed his eyes shut as he waited for her to tell him that he was terrible for feeling that way. But she didn't.

"I understand," she told him. "I know that feeling."

He wondered if she was referring to Ari. They'd never talked about the circumstances in which he died, or how she'd felt about him double—no, _triple_—crossing her. Maybe they would talk about it one day, but he wasn't going to spring the conversation on her now to save his own emotional hide.

"Someone to reassure me that I'm not disgusting for not being that upset," he continued.

"You are not," she said firmly. "Tony, you are simply human. And you had a very difficult relationship with him. You are entitled to feel whatever you are feeling."

He thought it over some more. "I guess I'm glad we saw each other again. And that he at least seemed genuine in his hope to repair the damage."

"He _was_ genuine, Tony," Ziva assured him.

He thought she was probably right. And maybe that was why he was crying, even if he wasn't feeling the loss right now. Because even after everything, he still wanted a father. And damn it, they might've had a shot at having that relationship again. If Anthony had only kept up his contact and his determination to make amends, and if Tony had only had enough time to work through his anger and frustration and hurt. Maybe they would have gotten there one day. But now, they'd never know.

"I still haven't forgiven him."

"No, I expect that will take time," she said. "But take comfort that he brought you together with the girls. He loved you and trusted you enough to look after them."

His regret at his lost chance at a father/son relationship with Anthony was quickly replaced with nerves. "Oh, Ziva. I have no idea how I'm going to do that," he told her. "I know I don't have to be their dad, but what if I screw them up anyway? They need strong leadership and support right now, and I'm just not the guy—"

"Tony," Ziva cut in. "You are exactly who they need right now. Lina would not have come to you if you were not. So now, and in the future, just be yourself. They already love you."

His eyes drifted over to his closed bedroom door, beyond which Lina was either sleeping or crying. And he didn't know how Ziva could possibly be so sure of it, but he had hope she was right anyway. Because God knew that he already loved them. "Do you think so?"

"Of course." She paused, and when she spoke again her voice was deep and thick with emotion. "You are easy to love."

It was not so much her words as her tone that made all the hair on his body stand on end. Maybe the stress and emotion of the evening had him seeing things where there was really nothing to see, but right now he could have sworn that she was telling him what Lina had earlier in the night. Right now, he was _sure_ that Ziva loved him.

His heart hammered and he swallowed moisture back into his mouth before he replied. "You too," he practically whispered.

He thought he heard her sniff back tears, but he couldn't be sure. "Well, that is a blatant lie," Ziva joked.

"It's not," he said, uncomfortable with falling into the more serious position while she joked. But it was important that she knew. That she understood what he was saying, even if he was still hopelessly confused over what, if anything, to do about it. She didn't argue further, and he hoped that meant she'd received the message. He didn't know where to go from there, though, so he thought he should probably end the call.

"Okay," he said, raising his voice just enough to break the tension. "Well, I just needed to call and…I think I just needed to tell someone about Dad. To say it aloud."

"To make it real?"

It sounded silly, but that was exactly what was going on. "Yeah. I should let you get back to sleep."

"I can stay up," she offered, but Tony wasn't up for any more emotional torture for the night.

"No, it's fine. Thanks, Ziva. You've written the guidebook on how to be a good partner lately."

"I was not being a partner," Ziva told him. "I was being a friend."

"Yeah, that too," he agreed. "I owe you wine and cake."

"Tony, you never have to thank me for trying to support you," she said, then added, "Although I am quite fond of both wine and cake."

Tony smiled at the ceiling. "You know, I think Rose has a recipe for some kind of mojito cake that I can get for you."

Ziva gasped for effect. "Do not tease me about that, DiNozzo," she warned. "You had better come back with it."

"I will. Go back to sleep, Ziva. It's late."

"Call me if you need anything," she told him. "At any time."

"Yeah," he said. He knew she meant it. And he knew he was so lucky to have her in his life.

* * *

><p><strong>Okay, peeps. I doubt that was worth the months-long wait but I hope it scratched your Famiglia itch. If not, I think you can get a topical ointment of some kind to help. The next chapter will be posted in the next day or two. <strong>


	13. Chapter 13

**Disclaimer: Disclaimed.**

* * *

><p>Anthony DiNozzo's funeral service had been well attended. Tony estimated about 200 aunts, uncles, cousins, old family friends, business associates, rowdy buddies, neighbors and a few ex-wives had crammed into the church to pay their last respects to a man who had probably kept secrets about his life from each and every one of them. Tony had sat between his aunts and sisters—the lone man in a full row of grieving Italian women who loved the departed dearly despite his many sins. Mike Richardson, Anthony's best friend, had delivered a eulogy that was remarkably free from embarrassing stories or commentary about Anthony's many relationships. Imelda had risen to give a short reading and a final farewell, and then a line of people had passed by the closed casket to pray and say goodbye. About half of them had looked at Lina and Clare like they were either curious about who they were, or scandalized that they even existed. Lina had taken it with poise and grace. Clare had glared at them in challenge.<p>

When they'd returned to his grandmother's house for the wake, Tony had been initially pleased to catch up with some cousins that he hadn't seen in decades. He had tolerated telling the same story about what he did for a living and his marital status over and over to old family friends who were shocked—_shocked!_—by how much he'd grown up and saddened—_so terribly sad!_—that he hadn't brought along the wife and kids they were all sure he'd have by now.

His mood really began to deteriorate though when people he barely knew started questioning him about Lina and Clare. He was asked more than once whether Lina was his daughter or his girlfriend. Once he'd made it very clear that she and Clare were his _sisters_, and that Anthony had been hiding them from half the people in his life for the last 20 years, things got uncomfortable. It seemed that people weren't willing to think the worst of a man at his own funeral, and so instead turned their distaste on the girls. Not blatantly, of course. But the girls received a few too many sour and judgmental looks, as if either of them had a say in how their lives began and the lies their father had told.

Rose and Louisa, possessing all the regard for social niceties that brash 70-year-old women often held (which was none), responded to the looks and comments head on. They'd begun inviting people to leave if they were so offended by the idea of Anthony producing two beautiful and intelligent daughters, and declared that Anthony's policeman son would use his gun to move them along if they resisted. No one had left but the mood in the room changed from something tense and nasty to overt politeness and acceptance.

No one liked missing out on a Hamptons party. Not even if the party was a wake. Hell, _especially_ if the party was a wake.

Tony didn't like it, and decided he needed a break. That was why he had slipped out to stand on the veranda of his nonna's house overlooking the beach. From here he could see the spot near the boardwalk where his mother had taken the photo of him and Anthony as Tony had been trying to give his dad a seaweed hairdo. Further down was where he and Anthony had jammed themselves between the sand and the wooden planks to bury a couple of coins from some board game Tony couldn't remember the name of in the hope that they would attract more buried treasure. Over by the dunes was where his mother used to like to sit with a book as Tony played in the surf with his cousins, and Anthony would bring her a drink with a kiss. And just down from where he now stood was the railing that he'd climbed on at all of five years old as he tried to catch a glimpse of Independence Day fireworks. He recalled that it had been one particularly loud _bang_ that had caught him by surprise, causing him to jump in shock, slip off the railing and fall four feet onto a small conifer that his grandfather had just planted the weekend before. He broke his arm in the fall and screamed bloody murder until his dad had picked him up, held him close and told him that even Superman had screwed up his first few attempts at flight. It was one of the last great dad moves that Anthony had ever made.

As Tony thought about it, he wondered if the reason he wasn't mourning the loss of Anthony now was because he'd started mourning when he was ten. After 30 years, he'd been well prepared for him being gone for good.

The noise from inside the house grew for a moment before dying down again, and Tony turned his head back towards the door. His grandmother approached, decked out in a black lace dress, black gloves and a thick black coat over her shoulders. She'd removed the black hat she'd worn to the funeral service, leaving her shock of white hair to contrast with the rest of her. He smiled fondly at her as she approached, and then put his arm gently around her bony shoulders and kissed the top of her head.

"How are you doing, Nonna?"

She rested her thin, fragile hands on the railing and sighed. "Promise me that when I go, you won't invite most of the people in there," she said. "Bunch of shitheads. Did you see how they were looking at your girls?"

Tony lifted an eyebrow. "My girls being my sisters? Or my girlfriends and daughters?"

Imelda snorted. "Honey, you're the most handsome man in there. But even _you_ couldn't bag a beautiful young girl like Lina or Clare."

His pride only stung a little bit. "Dad bagged Mia," he reminded her.

"I like Mia," Imelda said thoughtfully. "But she has self-esteem issues." She looked up at him and pointed a warning finger. "Don't ever marry a woman with self-esteem issues."

"Okay."

"Ziva didn't strike me as—"

Tony cut her off with a groan that said everything he needed to about that. He just really wasn't in the mood for another ass kicking about that.

"Okay, okay," Imelda said. "You get a break from that right now."

"Great," he muttered, then changed the subject quickly. "Hey, let's talk about how restrained Mr Richardson was in his eulogy. Who expected that?"

"Rose gave him a talking to before he went up," Imelda told him. "She threatened to put the evil eye on him."

"Good job, Rose," Tony said. "We should get her to broker peace talks between Israel and Palestine." He rubbed her back gently. "You spoke well, too."

"I never thought I would bury any of my children."

"You shouldn't have to."

She looked up at him with worry. "Promise me you will look after yourself. That you will eat well and never smoke or drink, and that you will avoid guns and knives and terrorists and crazy people. I can't bury my grandchildren."

Tony felt a stab of guilt. Without quitting his job, he couldn't possibly promise half those things. But he gave her a generic, blanket response. "I promise I'll look after myself."

Imelda eyed him warily. She heard the promises he wasn't making instead of the one he was. But she accepted it. She made the sign of the cross over her chest, said a silent prayer, and then turned to lower herself onto the outdoor couch that sat on her veranda. Tony took a seat beside her, and for a little while the two of them just looked out at the ocean and the sky beginning to turn pink above it. The din of the wake continued behind them, but Tony was beginning to calm down again. The sky, the waves, the smell of the ocean mixed with the perfume his nonna had been wearing for 40 years, and a calm and wise old lady beside him who would never stop loving him, no matter what he did, it was a comfort he hadn't had for a long time. Not since the days when he broke his arm three paces from where he now sat.

He gestured at the conifer. "That tree didn't sustain any lasting damage from when I fell on it," he said.

Imelda made a face. "What are you talking about?"

"Remember when I fell off the railing one Independence Day?" he said, trying to jog her memory.

"Yes, of course," she replied. "But what about the tree?"

"I fell on it," he said again. "But it looks like it escaped without injury."

Imelda chuckled and put her hand on his. "_Tesoro_, that's not the same tree you fell on."

Tony looked between the row of trees by the veranda, thinking he might've been mistaken. But it was the only tree that was beside a beam that went up to the roof, and he knew for sure that he'd been holding on to that beam before he fell. "Yeah, it is. I'm positive."

"You fell on a tree, but it wasn't _that_ one," Imelda argued. "You killed that one. Your father planted a new one in its place."

Tony frowned. He was sure he'd never heard that before. "Oh. Really?"

"He said you felt bad about it," Imelda went on. "That you wanted it fixed before me or your grandfather found out, because you knew we liked them."

Tony stared at the tree and concentrated hard on trying to retrieve the memory. But it was gone. "So Dad replanted it?"

"You were more upset about the tree than your arm," Imelda told him. "He couldn't do anything about your arm to make you feel better, so he fixed the tree."

Tony's throat got tight again, and for a moment he wondered if he had everything wrong. He remembered his father being pretty cool in the early days. How could he possibly have been the same man who paid him no attention except to treat him badly just a few years later? Surely he had to have remembered his teen years wrong. And his 20s and his 30s. But just weeks ago, Anthony had 'fessed up and apologized for his decades of bad behavior. Somehow he really had gone from a loving and engaged parent to a lying, angry and undependable man.

"Are you still angry with him?"

Tony turned to look down at his grandmother's face. She looked saddened, and he knew the truth would sadden her more. But she'd never wanted anything from him other than honesty. He couldn't lie about staying away from guns and crazy people, and he couldn't lie now. "Yes," he admitted. "But it seems pointless now. It was probably pointless to begin with."

Imelda squeezed his hand. "Anger is always pointless. But it is often understandable," she assured him.

He looked out at the ocean again and tried to get his thoughts in order. "I'm trying to forgive," he told her. "I'm grateful he told me about the girls before he died. If I'd found out afterwards…I don't know. I guess I would have swallowed it, because what else could I have done? But it would have been even more of a betrayal. I would have found it harder to cope with."

"I know, love," Imelda said softly. "I know lies have never sat well with you."

"He's lucky I love those girls," he added, then threw her a smile. "It's good to have as many people as possible around you who aren't allowed to hate you, no matter how much you screw up."

"You don't screw up," she said adamantly.

Tony gave an empty chuckle. "I screw up daily. It's usually small, but sometimes it's huge."

She went silent then, but Tony knew it wasn't in acceptance of what he'd said. She was gearing up for something, and she was just waiting out the beats until she found the right one to jump on.

"_Tesoro_, I know you don't want to talk about it," she began, and then ignored Tony's pointed sigh. "I want you, I'm _begging you_, to re-evaluate your priorities."

"My priorities are fine," he replied tiredly. "We already had this conversation. Twice."

"You put work before yourself," Imelda pointed out. "Work before a family. That's not the way it should be."

"For some people, it is."

"Not you."

"Yes, me," he argued, trying very hard not to yell at her.

"It's just that you never know how much time you have," she continued, completely ignoring him. "You make all these grand plans for your life and you think that you might have a few stumbles along the way. But you can't imagine that you won't eventually get to where you want to go. And then you're blindsided by something that's out of your hands and takes it all away."

Tony thought of the conversation he had with Anthony at the Dorchester. For the first time his father had talked about the loss of his wife and what it had done to him, and had implored Tony to stop sitting around and making excuses. Because, as Imelda had just said, you never knew when something unexpected would rear its head and take away all your choices. Take away what you loved. And Tony understood that. Honestly, he did. Years ago, Ziva was sent back to Israel by Vance and he'd thought he'd never see her again. Shortly before that, a serial killer had almost shot her in the head. And just a few weeks ago, some piece of crap had almost strangled her to death. So far he'd been lucky that she'd been returned to him in one piece. But how much longer would it be until their luck ran out? And when it happened, what did he want to regret? Never telling her he loved her and never getting any time with her? Or only getting 20 years with her instead of 30?

"I know," he said softly, coming around to the conversation. "Dad reminded me of that the last time we spoke."

Imelda nodded slowly. "He was talking about it the night before he died," she told him. "He regretted that he'd wasted so many years on bitterness and fury at losing your darling mother. I know, Tony, that he truly wished he had paid more attention to the good things while he had them."

"Mom," Tony said.

"And you." She eyed him. "You have so many good things in your life. But I don't think you're paying attention to them. Not the way you should."

She was beating around the bush, and Tony was tired of it. He got to the point just so that she could stop dancing. "Nonna, I do pay attention to Ziva. Every single day."

"Not the way you should," she repeated, and before Tony could argue that changing their relationship wasn't just as easy as deciding to do it, Imelda went on. "You know, if your mother was here she'd say—"

"_No_," Tony cut in quickly, and gave her a very serious look of warning. "No, that's not fair."

But Imelda wasn't afraid of him. "She would say that you need to be brave enough to put yourself first. You are brave every day looking after other people, but you are giving too much of yourself away to strangers who will never fill the holes in your heart. She would say you need to be brave enough to start giving yourself completely to someone who will love you back and fill you up."

Tony's eyes burned from unshed tears and his heart thudded so hard he felt a little light-headed. She'd gone too far. "Nonna," he said, forcing his voice to stay even. "It's not fair of you to tell me what Mom would have said. Because _I don't know_ what she would have said. I don't _remember_ the way she talked, or if she had romantic ideas about finding another person to complete you. I didn't get to know her, so it's not fair of you to tell me that she would have done this or said that. Because I can't argue with you." He looked her in the eye and refused to be put off by how stung she appeared. "You're just invoking her name now because you think she's the trump card for this argument you and Rose and Louisa have been making for me to settle down."

Imelda set her jaw and, true to form, she didn't back down from the fight. "No. I am invoking her name because she loved you more than anything else in the world and she would want _nothing_ more than for you to be happy."

Tony shifted in his seat to face her as his agitation grew. "But why do you all think I'm not happy now? You have this idea in your head that my job can't possibly make me happy and that my priorities are wrong. But I do get satisfaction from it. And maybe it'll be enough for me in the end. It's not for you to decide, one way or another."

Imelda looked back at him with so much love and sadness that it forced a tear out of his eyes. "How long have you been telling yourself that, _tesoro?_ She asked softly. "You almost sound like you believe it."

"I do," he started uselessly. Because he knew she would continue to argue. And he knew he _didn't_ believe it. He was being stubborn because he didn't want to be told how badly he was screwing up, and how much braver he needed to be. And he didn't want to accept that the thing that would make him happy was the _one damn thing_ that his adopted father—the one who had taught him so much more than his real one, and who had cared for him more than his real one—didn't want him to have. He didn't want to accept that the only way to be happy with Ziva was to betray Gibbs.

What kind of screwed up situation was that?

"I've known men who truly didn't need love in their lives," Imelda was telling him. "Families of their own. But you are not one of those men, Tony. The desire to bond with other people seeps out of every inch of your skin. It always has."

Tony tilted his head back and closed his eyes as he sighed. His father had said the same damn thing. What the hell was it with his nonna suddenly repeating all the things Anthony had told him he thought of him? Were they in on this soul-saving mission together? Or was it some cosmic joke that Anthony was only beginning to be proven to be not an entirely useless father after he'd died? Tony was beginning to feel like Anthony had paid attention to him all along, and only decided the time was right to show his hand as he was about to make his final exit. What a goddamn typical DiNozzo man.

"Do you think that needing other people makes you weak?" Imelda asked him.

Tony's body sagged against the couch as he finally stopped resisting and gave in. He didn't want to be the typical DiNozzo man. "No, not weak. Just…"

"Vulnerable," Imelda guessed.

Tears filled Tony's eyes, and it was too late to blink them away. He fidgeted with his hands to try to draw his nonna's attention elsewhere, or to otherwise distract himself for long enough to get a grip. But he couldn't. The tears were going to come, like it or not.

Imelda reached out to gently stroke his hair at his temple. "You need to be brave enough to be vulnerable," she told him gently. "I know you are scared of what might happen if you make that leap and open your heart, but you need to give other people the chance to hurt you. Because if you don't—if you don't expose yourself to them—then they won't get the chance to love you back as much as you love them. Fully. Like I loved your grandfather. And like your parents loved each other."

He heard her, and he took the message to heart. But she was right that he was scared, and he looked at her with that fear. "But I've seen what being the one left behind when it all goes wrong does to a person. Not just with dad, but with Gibbs at work. It destroyed them both, Nonna. _Destroyed_ them. And I don't think I have the strength to deal with that. I'm more like Dad than I am like you and Rose and Louisa. You would pick yourself up and keep moving. I'd break."

Imelda eyed him with as she tried to understand. "Are you saying that you would prefer to stay alone and sad for the rest of your life instead of taking a risk to get what you want?"

Tony rubbed his damp cheek. "It sounds really cowardly when you say it like that."

"Because it is," she told him. "Do you worry that she doesn't love you back?"

Tony swallowed hard. Honestly, he did. Like anyone, he'd worry about that until Ziva told him otherwise. Even if her behavior in the last couple of weeks said otherwise. And her eyes and her words and her touches. Those things went beyond what had been the traditional boundaries of their relationship, and it had only been days ago when he had allowed himself to believe that her feelings for him were not simply platonic. And yet, after spending four days away from her, he was filled with doubt again.

"Yes, I do," he admitted. "She's not always easy to read."

"Are you kidding me?" Imelda exclaimed. "She's an open book when she looks at you."

He sighed. "That's your romantic heart talking."

"Crap," she shot back. "You know, I find it interesting that she's very much like you."

Tony had to laugh out loud at that. "What? She's _nothing_ like me. We are literally from opposite ends of the earth, Nonna."

"She has the same struggles," Imelda insisted. "All she wants is to love someone and have them love her back for who she is. That is the same for you."

"It's the same for a lot of people," he countered.

"And there is no question that she is brave to be working in the same job as you," she went on. "But she is not brave enough to let herself be vulnerable. Just like you. You are very much alike. And it is interesting that you have ended up together." She squeezed his hand. "In love with each other, but neither of you brave enough to be the first one to open your heart or put your head on the chopping block. It's very interesting. And annoying, too, for all of us sitting here on the sidelines and waiting for you to pull your head out of your butt before death comes and takes us all."

He rolled his eyes at the drama, but asked her a serious question. "What are we supposed to do once we put ourselves first?" he asked. "Even if we make our jobs second on the priority list—which I know for a fact is _not_ going to go down well with Gibbs, but let's leave that aside for now."

"Yes, let's."

"Even with our jobs second on the list, they're still incredibly important," he continued. "And there will come a time when our relationship will be a distraction that endangers the whole team. What then?"

"So you have to work together?" she asked.

Tony was very quick to respond. "Yes. Not negotiable."

"Then you trust your instincts," she replied reasonably.

Tony waited for more, but it seemed that Imelda was done with her advice. "That's it?" he asked.

Imelda frowned like she couldn't believe he had the gall to question her. "Of course that's it," she replied. "How hard is it? Your gut tells you to do something, and you do it. Do you walk into dangerous situations now telling yourself from the beginning that you must remember to put Ziva's safety first or second or third?"

He thought that over. "Well, no. It's kind of just…ingrained in me."

"Do you have to remind yourself to look after the other members of your team?"

"No," he said again. "It's ingrained in me."

"Or to look after yourself?"

"It's ingrained in me."

"Do you really think that will change?" she asked. "Old habits are hard to break, Tony. This is one situation where being a DiNozzo will work in your favor. It is almost impossible for us to change our ways."

Tony breathed out an awestruck expletive. He couldn't believe that she had just argued that the very trait that had sent her son to an early grave was the same one that would be her grandson's salvation. It took guts, he had to give her that. But not regular DiNozzo woman guts. These guts came from a wise old woman who knew she was right.

"I don't know what to say to that," he admitted.

"Good, because I'm too tired to argue any more," she said, and prepared to stand up. "I'm going to go back in and have a nap, and hopefully by the time I wake most of these people will have left."

"I'll get Louisa and Rose to start kicking them out," he told her. He helped her get to her feet, and then leaned down to kiss her cheek. "Thank you, Nonna. You drive me crazy and I think you play dirty at times. But thank you."

"You're welcome," she said, before beckoning him closer with her finger and lowering her voice. "If you don't let your heart breathe, my love, it is going to break. Do you understand?"

He gave her a half smile and then nodded with resolve. "I do."

"Good." She kissed his cheek and then turned to go. "Keep me posted," she called over her shoulder. "I'm very invested in this."

Tony rolled his eyes at her back. Geez, he never would have guessed.

* * *

><p>Late that night after the wake guests had left and the DiNozzo clan had gone to bed, Tony woke from a light sleep at the sound of his cell phone buzzing. Too many years as a cop or agent on call had him attuned to the noise, and he instinctively grabbed for his phone on the nightstand before he'd even opened his eyes. He squinted against the backlight as he navigated to his messages, and read the text that had just come in.<p>

_Just checking that you are okay after today. Call me if you need._

He felt his stomach flip as he stared at the message from Ziva for a few moments and turned his reply over in his head. He had been thinking about her, and them, all evening, and he had the urge to call her back. But he wasn't sure what he wanted to say.

_Hey, just wanted to let you know that I love you and that I'm leaning towards making a move on you, but I haven't completely decided yet. So sit tight, okay? I'll let you know when I reach a decision._ He didn't think that would be received very well.

_Thanks for texting me. By the way, do you reckon you could let me know how you'd respond if I told you I loved you and wanted to be with you __**before**__ I do it, so I know whether you'll reject me?_ That kind of felt like he was shifting responsibility to her.

_My family finally wore me down. Wanna do it? _She'd probably find a way to slap him all the way from D.C.

He ruled out calling her back, and instead sent back the text message that she was probably expecting.

_Thank you. Everything's okay. Are you/others all right?_

Well, she couldn't blame him for double-checking, could she? The last time he'd spent a few days away from work she'd been choked.

Ziva responded quickly.

_Safe and sound in bed._

He smiled as he saw an opening for a joke, and he was halfway through typing his response when his phone buzzed again with another text message. He pulled it up.

_*Separately*, Tony._

He smiled fully. Sometimes he wondered if she was the only one who understood him.

_You read my mind. See you tomorrow._

He navigated out of his messages, opened his email and flipped through them until he found Mia's email from a few days after their dinner at the Dorchester. She had sent him a bunch of photos of the night, and amongst them was the one she took of himself and Ziva standing on the balcony and smiling at each other. At the time he hadn't realized how close they'd been standing to each other, and it was strange to see a photo of them together that they hadn't posed for. Sure, he'd seen others, but they'd been ready for all of them and had smiled for the camera. This shot was candid and unfiltered by awareness, and for the first time he'd seen the two of them from an outsider's perspective. He saw what other people—his family, for example—said they saw. He saw two people in love.

He smiled indulgently and let himself wish for more photos like this. He wished for the guts to heed his grandmother's—and father's and aunts'—advice. Because after just a couple of days away from her, he missed her. In a future where they were together he'd still miss her after a few days apart, but he'd be able to go home and hug her and smell her and be happy in the comfort and security of that relationship. And that sounded…wonderful. God, he really wanted to do that.

But before he took a shot at it—and it was useless to tell himself that he wasn't going to—he had to square the life-changing move away with Gibbs. He didn't think the boss would be that happy about what Tony planned to do, but sneaking around behind his back and denying it was out of the question. The man had been so good to him and stepped into the shoes that Anthony had left empty 20 years ago without complaint, and the worst possible thing Tony could do to repay him was lie. So when he got home, Tony would talk to Gibbs. And then, regardless of whether Gibbs forbade it or simply accepted it, he would talk to Ziva. He would admit that the Mafioso was right, and the he didn't want to live with regrets. He'd admit that he wanted a family. He'd admit that he wanted to be happy. And he'd admit that he wanted it all with her.


	14. Chapter 14

**A/N: We've finally reached the end. Here's the final chapter of the story that's dragged on far too long. My sincere thanks to everyone who has stuck with it and sent such kind reviews. I hope you enjoy the end of it.  
>Disclaimer: Disclaimed.<strong>

* * *

><p>When Tony walked down the stairs to Gibbs' basement the following Sunday morning, he felt like he hadn't been there in years. Lately his life had been so busy and different to how it normally was that his brain was having difficulty putting everything in to the right compartments of agent, friend, grandson or brother. The mess it created had him feeling generally out of sorts, and he didn't automatically feel as comfortable in the basement as he usually did. Of course, that might have also been due to his nerves over what he was here to do.<p>

Gibbs was standing under the basement windows and fiddling with a Mason jar full of screws when Tony came in. He didn't look up at the sound of Tony's boots thumping on the stairs, and Tony wondered not for the first time whether the guy had nerves of steel, a flair for the dramatic, or whether he could just tell who was coming by the sound of their car engine and the cadence of their walk. It was probably a combination of all three.

Tony paused on the landing and looked around the basement. To him, it didn't look like the boat had progressed much since he saw it last. Probably Gibbs hadn't been able to spend as much time down there lately, what with Tony being in and out so much. Ziva said that while hers and McGee's workloads had increased, Gibbs hadn't been getting McGee to do the reporting and checking that Tony usually had to do. So either it wasn't being done (which was possible) or Gibbs was doing it himself. It wouldn't leave him with much time for his extra-curricular boat-building activities. But now Tony was back full time he was determined to pick up the slack again. He'd just have to fit it in around the extra-curricular activities he was hoping to add to his own life.

"You gonna hang around there all day?" Gibbs asked.

"Just overseeing your progress," Tony replied, and came down the last few steps. "When will you get this thing in the water?"

Gibbs glanced at him and then over at the boat. "When it's ready."

_Fair point_, Tony thought.

Gibbs found whatever screw or nail he was after and slipped it into the pocket of his t-shirt before upending the rest of the jar. He held it up between them and lifted an eyebrow, but Tony refused the offer of a drink with a shake of his head. After the last few weeks with his family, he was going to try to cut back on how much he drank. Gibbs put the jar down and then swiped a hand over a sawhorse, sending dust flying. He slid it over to Tony, and Tony took a seat while Gibbs dusted off his stool. Then he sat, facing Tony, and lifted another eyebrow.

Tony started with the easier stuff. "Thanks for being accommodating in the last few weeks."

"It's family, DiNozzo," Gibbs said, justifying his absence for him.

Tony smirked. "Estranged family," he corrected. "Well, not now, I guess." His eyes drifted to the workbench as he thought again about how quickly and efficiently the Mafioso had inserted themselves into his life again. There'd be no getting rid of them again. But while that thought filled him with dread a couple of weeks ago, now he was more comfortable with it. They were strong, wise and formidable women, and if the last couple of years had taught him anything, it was that he really liked women like that.

"You okay?"

Tony looked up with the quick but sincere question. Gibbs couldn't quite meet his eyes—he was about as comfortable sharing emotion was Tony was with seeing it on him. But he was trying. Tony knew he had to start giving out points to people like Gibbs and his dad for trying. "You mean with Dad?" Tony checked. At Gibbs' nod, he shrugged, but nodded. "Yeah. I still don't miss him, I guess. I mean, I barely talked to him or even thought of him in the last 20 years. I mostly just regret how everything happened."

"He reached out to you, Tony," Gibbs said. "Maybe it was only because he was dying, but he did it. With the crap he pulled, it probably would've been easier for him not to."

Tony's eyes crept over to the bottle of bourbon on the workbench. Maybe he could have a _little_ bit to help with the conversation. "I know," he said. "And we talked about some of that crap. And other stuff, which really annoyed me, but which I'll probably be grateful for one day."

Gibbs smirked knowingly. "That's parenting. You tell them the truth, they resent you for it, but eventually they understand."

Tony rolled his eyes. "I'll look forward to that one day."

"It's still worth it," Gibbs told him. "Even if you were still at odds when he passed, I'm sure he was happy you were talking."

Tony's throat tightened uncomfortably, but he swallowed hard to loosen it again. There was not a single chance in hell that he would cry or even tear up in Gibbs' company. Not under any circumstance. "Yeah," he said softly, and then cleared his throat in the hope of finding his voice again. "I know he was happy to have me and the girls together, finally."

To his surprise, Gibbs broke into a wide smile. "You're damn lucky he left you with them."

Tony agreed, but he couldn't work out what Gibbs was getting at. "Why?"

"They're gonna give you focus," Gibbs said with a nod.

Tony frowned. "On what? On family?"

Gibbs gave a tentative nod. "Family. Priorities."

Tony's frown deepened. "Have you been talking to my grandmother?"

Gibbs looked back at him, impassive and silent. Tony nodded his head and held up his hand, admitting that it was a dumb question and inviting him to continue with his independent Gibbs thoughts.

"Wasn't that long ago you were chasing girls Lina's age," Gibbs started, and although Tony got the point, he had to interject to set the record straight.

"_Never_ that young, Gibbs," he said firmly. "I mean, sure. When I was 33, 34, I dated a couple of grad students. But—"

"You're making my point," Gibbs interrupted. "You're seeing them as kids to look after. Not dates."

Tony shifted uncomfortably and tried to focus on what Gibbs was saying, rather than the icky setting he'd put it in. "You're saying that because they're going to rely on me and ask for my advice and help, I'm going to start wanting kids of my own to raise, and to settle down with my own family."

Gibbs shrugged a yes, and Tony had to resist rolling his eyes.

"Well, yeah, boss. I already worked that out," he said, as if he'd been aware of it for years. "I mean, the idea of having someone be dependent on me is absolutely terrifying. But what you said about priorities? I've been hearing that a lot lately. And I've been resisting it, but I think I need to stop."

Gibbs nodded knowingly, but Tony felt there was a resignation to it. He wondered if he'd already worked out why Tony was here. He'd certainly been steering the conversation towards it.

"You gotta know what you're about, DiNozzo," Gibbs said. "And you've got to know when to shift your focus."

Tony nodded along. Gibbs had opened the door for the next and most important part of the conversation, and although he felt a sudden and intense stab of nerves, he had to go through it. "I need to shift mine."

Gibbs bought time with his silence and his eyes set on the floor. Then he heaved a sigh and looked Tony in the eye. "You talked to Ziva about that yet?"

The faintest of smiles tugged at Tony's mouth. Of course Gibbs knew where it was going. He knew everything. And the fact that he wasn't yelling or slapping was a positive sign. Although that might still come later. "I haven't," he told Gibbs, not bothering with explaining himself or his position. Gibbs already knew those things. "I wanted to talk to you first."

"Why's that?"

Tony took a deep breath as he rubbed his hands together and prayed that he wouldn't screw this up. "You know I respect you more than anyone, Gibbs. You've been a mentor to me, and more. And I owe you a lot for who I am now." He paused as Gibbs shifted and his eyes darted away, and Tony got the message to skip over the heartfelt stuff and just get to the point. "I don't want to let you down. And I don't want you to think that I don't appreciate what you've done for this team and why you insist on specific rules."

"I don't," Gibbs said stiffly.

"I need to break that rule, Gibbs. Or at least take a shot at breaking it," he revised. "I don't know whether Ziva will be willing."

"What if she's not?" Gibbs asked, careful to keep the sting out of his tone. Tony understood that Gibbs wanted him to have a plan. You always had to have a backup plan.

"Then I'll accept that and I'll continue my master class on how to shove all my feelings into a tiny box and throw it in the back of my closet."

Gibbs smirked. "Yah."

Tony went on. "I just know that I can't keep lying about all this. I can't keep pretending that I don't need something to make everything we do worth it. All the sacrifice." He paused and brought his feelings over the last few weeks together. "I can't sacrifice what I want for the sake of other people anymore. Not even you. I hope you understand that."

Gibbs shot him a look that was tinged with disappointment. "You think I want you all to be unhappy? I don't." He paused, tipped his head back and breathed deeply before looking at Tony again. "I understand. I want the same thing you want. Difference is I know I won't get it back. But you? You got a shot. So take it."

Tony read the sincerity in Gibbs' face and voice clearly, and it made his stomach tighten with hope. But habit made him double-check. "Really?"

Gibbs eyed him quietly for a moment, and Tony hoped he wasn't reconsidering. But eventually Gibbs nodded and it was final. "Yah."

Tony let out a slow, relieved breath. He'd take that as a blessing. Or at least acceptance. With Gibbs, one was as good as another. "Right," he said as it sank in. "Okay."

"Okay," Gibbs echoed.

"That's good," Tony told him, still getting his head around it.

Gibbs grunted.

"Because I didn't want to piss you off—"

"You're beginning to."

"Right," Tony said again, and got to his feet. He wiped his suddenly sweaty palms on his thighs. "Sorry, boss."

Gibbs sat and watched him as his nerves over the next phase of his plan for the day flared. He didn't move a muscle.

Tony cleared his throat and took a step backwards, barely managing to avoid tripping on the sawhorse. "Okay. I'm gonna go."

Gibbs remained silent.

Tony took another step back and gestured back over his shoulder. "I'm just gonna go and see Ziva now and let her know that I…like her," he said. "A lot."

Gibbs' stone face gave way to a painful wince, and he shook his head in disbelief at the crappy speech his senior agent seemed to have planned. "Tony."

Tony held his hand up to stall any further comment. "I'll work on what I'll say on the way over."

"Yeah," Gibbs said, and then stood and waved Tony away.

"Okay," Tony said yet again, and then turned to jog up the stairs. He paused before he got to the top and ducked his head below the wall to look back at Gibbs. "Hey, boss?"

Gibbs turned to look up at him and raised an eyebrow.

"Thank you."

Gibbs gave him a nod and a brief but genuine smile. "Go on."

Tony returned the smile, and then jogged up the rest of the stairs. He'd be at Ziva's in half an hour.

* * *

><p>He turned up at Ziva's apartment with a thundering heartbeat and a recipe for Rose's mojito cake in his hand.<p>

"I know I should have made it for you," he told her. "But I'm no good at baking."

Ziva took the piece of paper with the handwritten family recipe with a smile. "I might make it tonight," She scanned the recipe and then frowned. "There are a lot of different kinds of sugar in this."

Tony shrugged. "It's from my family. What do you expect? Lime and mint doesn't make it healthy."

"I suppose not," she said, and then placed it on the kitchen counter and smiled at him. "Thank you."

"Rose asked me to tell you specifically not to post that on the Internet."

Ziva chuckled. "Then I will not tell any of my food blog followers that I have it."

Tony cocked his head, acknowledging her point. "I promised her I'd tell you. I'm just following through."

Ziva put her hand on her heart. "I will take it to the grave."

She gestured towards the living room with her head, and Tony followed her in. They sat together on her couch and Ziva looked at him appraisingly.

"You look more relaxed than you have."

Given his reason for being with her that afternoon, Tony almost laughed. "Do I?"

She nodded. "Less anxious. You do not feel that you have to hold everyone together anymore. Yes?"

"Yeah," he admitted. "I know I probably didn't have to before, but the Mafioso…" he shook his head, "they're just so emotional."

Ziva smiled. "And you are used to Gibbs and McGee."

He ginned. "Right. And Dad. I mean, he is emotional," he caught himself. "_Was_. He was. But not about anything that important." His eyes drifted downwards as he reconsidered what he'd just said. Two months ago it would have been true. But, as everyone had been so keen to remind him this week, Anthony had reached out before he died. He'd acknowledged his behavior and apologized for it. Spoken about his regrets. Expressed pride over how Tony had turned out. And the last time the two of them had spoken, Anthony had been very emotional while he had talked about the love of his life and then implored Tony to stop wasting time and go after his.

"That's not true," Ziva said gently as Tony reached the same conclusion.

"No, I guess not," he conceded. "I'm just not used to dealing with the level of emotion the rest of the family displays. I only ever have to deal with me." He threw her a smile, but Ziva didn't return it. She looked at him appraisingly, and then shifted on the couch to turn her body to face him a little more.

"Tony, I do not know if this has been weighing on your mind," she began. "But it has been on mine."

He watched her warily. "What's that?"

"When we had dinner with your family, there was a lot of talk about you not having a family," she said. "But you do. It might not be the kind that you walk down the aisle for, but if what you have is enough for you then you should not feel incomplete."

Tony lifted his eyes to hers, and his heart started hammering again. "What if it's not enough for me?" he asked.

Ziva's head fell to the side just a little bit. He doubted she even noticed. "Is that how you really feel?" she asked softly.

He gazed at her for a moment, taking in her beautiful face, feeling the warmth that spread through him when he thought about being with her, and how much his life could change for the better today if he just followed through on his intentions and was honest with her now.

"Yes," he told her. "It's not enough. I'm luck to have our team, but they're not enough."

Ziva swallowed hard and licked her lips, and he was almost positive that she was hearing what he was telling her. _They_ weren't enough. Gibbs and McGee. But _she_ would be.

"You should look for something else to fill the hole," she said with a thick voice.

"And what if it's complicated?" he had to ask.

She smiled briefly. Tony supposed she thought that 'complicated' was an understatement when it came to the two of them. That was, if she _knew_ they were talking about the two of them now. But she had to, didn't she?

Her voice was unnaturally low and she looked like she was forcing a brave face when she replied, "No one would blame you if you chose the uncomplicated route, Tony."

It wasn't exactly the answer he'd been hoping for, and Tony felt a sense of panic that she might just accept it without a word if he chose that uncomplicated route and walked away from their situation. He had to rule it out as an option.

"The uncomplicated route would be to remain single for the rest of my life," he told her with a tone that made it clear that he didn't like the sound of that. "And as my family was so keen to point out, I don't think I'd live very happily like that."

Part of him expected her to laugh and joke now about the former bachelor DiNozzo making such a statement. And if she was uncomfortable with where she had to know this conversation was going, this would be a perfect point for her to get out of it.

She didn't.

"You are ready to settle down," she finally said after taking a moment to collect herself. "What does that mean to you?"

Tony hesitated. This could be the moment where he told her exactly how he felt about her. Where he laid out everything he wanted from their relationship. And if he took her question at face value, he would have to assume that she wanted to hear it. But did she? There was only one way to know for sure. He'd just have to be ready to seek forgiveness if it all blew up in his face.

He looked at her hand on her knee that was almost toughing his thigh, and for a split second he thought to reach out and hold it in his. But he restrained himself for now—until he knew for sure what she wanted—and met her eyes again.

"It means I want someone to lie in bed with at night," he told her boldly. "I want to tell someone I love them every day. I want someone who can't live without me as much as I can't live without them. I want to get excited about my first kid being born. I want to find a better balance between work and home. Fix my priorities. And in 20 years' time I want to look back on my life and decide that I did pretty good."

By the end of it his heart was thumping so hard he was sure she'd be able to hear it. And maybe the sound of his heart beating and his blood rushing through his ears was the reason he wasn't hearing a response of any kind from her. Maybe, but not likely. It was more likely that he'd pushed it too far and she didn't have a clue what to say, and now she was wishing she'd dropped the conversation when she had the chance. He drew a shallow breath and turned his head away as his eyes burned, and he wondered why the hell he was so determined to put himself out there when she hadn't even given him any firm sign that she was ready for or interested in what he was pushing for.

"Crazy fantasy, huh?" he muttered, attempting to give them a place to move on from.

He didn't know whether she heard him or not, but after another few agonizingly silent moments he felt Ziva's hand settle on his wrist. He didn't underestimate the guts it took for her to do it. He turned his head back to look at her, but now she had turned her head from him. Her hand still lingered, though, and Tony took a chance by lifting his other hand to cover hers. She squeezed his wrist gently in acknowledgement, and then slowly drew her hand away. He felt a pang in his chest, but he didn't chase her like he wanted. Not physically, anyway.

"So. What do you want, Ziva?" he asked gently. "Since we're talking futures and all."

When she hesitated, he felt stung. If not surprised. On any other day this would be the point where he just gave up and let her have her space. But today didn't feel like a normal day, and he was too desperate to know her answer, especially when he'd come so damn far in the last few minutes. Hell, the last few _weeks_. Her answer would impact greatly on the list he'd allowed himself to be vulnerable enough to provide her with moments ago. He thought she probably knew that, and perhaps that was why she hesitated. But he wasn't interested in allowing her to protect herself right now. He'd put himself on the line—finally—and he was going to drag her out there with him.

"I need to know," he told her plainly. "Doesn't matter what you say, I just need to know."

At that, her chin dropped to her chest and she let out a heavy sigh, and Tony wondered if he'd done himself a disservice by trying to force her to do anything. Ziva was a great soldier and followed orders from her superiors to the letter. Technically, Tony was her superior at work. But here in the outside world, he was her equal. Here in the outside world, she had never responded well to him telling her what to do. But he stood by his decision to push her. His family and even Gibbs had convinced him that this was too important. In fact, her list of wants was probably the most important thing he could think of that would impact on his future. So although she may have been feeling unprepared for the conversation—hell, so was _he_—he wasn't going to let her walk away from it until he had a clearer idea of where he stood with her. Because, Jesus, after today, she would sure know _exactly_ where she stood with him.

"Please, Ziva," he implored. "When this conversation is over we're still going to be friends. But I just really need to know."

"I know you do," she said softly. "And you deserve to. But it is just so hard to…"

He was her partner to the core. And so when he saw her struggle, he just couldn't stop himself from trying to help her out. "Do you want a family?" he asked, trying to give her some direction.

The question was enough to bring tears to Ziva's eyes. And although she fought them back, the struggle to do so was obvious. Her face crumbled and her fingers dug into her knee, and it looked for all the world like it was the hardest admission she'd ever made. Whatever she'd said to his family at dinner had been polite conversation, not an admission of her deepest desires. He could relate to that. Admitting that he wanted the same thing had taken him the better part of five years and a crack squad of old Italian women working his last nerve for weeks until he broke. And so when all she could do was nod a yes instead of saying it, he didn't blame her. He encouraged her.

"It's okay to want it."

The corner of her mouth lifted in a bittersweet smile and she found words for the thoughts in her head. "I know. But what I want is something permanent. Something that is always mine, no matter what. And I just do not know how feasible any of that is."

Tony swallowed hard and somehow resisted the urge to roll his eyes. All this time she'd been having the same damn thoughts as him. "That sounds reasonable," he replied evenly. "I want that too."

Ziva let out a chuckle that he thought might have been nervous energy instead of humor. "You want a lot."

Yeah, he did. But it wasn't greedy, was it? "Too much?"

Her eyes softened, and she shook her head. "No," she said tightly, and then drew in a deep breath. Her eyes closed briefly as she prepared herself, and when she opened her eyes again he knew she was ready to be honest with him. And herself. "Yes, I want a family," she told him. "I want to let myself love someone openly. I want someone who makes everything I do worth it. And makes everything I do better. I want to be happy. And to make someone else happy for a change." She paused to throw him a self-deprecating smile. "It is not something I am known for."

"Yeah, you are," he pushed out through a tight throat. God, he needed her to know that.

Ziva smiled, but tucked her hair behind her ear in a sure sign that she felt unsure of herself. "I think I am mostly known for being a pain in the ass."

Tony smirked, but it came from a place of affection. "Yes," he agreed. "But those two things aren't mutually exclusive."

She made a face that suggested she didn't quite believe it, but didn't argue the point further. She cleared her throat and looked at him hopefully. "So, that is what I want. I have a feeling that Nonna would be very proud of me for admitting it."

His smile grew, assuring her that he appreciated every word, and he nodded. "Yeah. Definitely."

"Good," she said, and then abruptly got to her feet. "I need some tea. Do you want some tea?"

He nodded a yes and watched her walk to his kitchen. For the longest time he started at the point where she'd disappeared and tried to process what they'd just discussed and admitted to. The both wanted a family. They both wanted something to make their lives happier and more worthwhile. He had implied that he wanted that with her, and Ziva? Well, he didn't feel that she'd made her intentions about who she wanted to do it with clear. But it had to be him, didn't it? She loved him. Didn't she? He dropped his head back against the couch and rubbed his hand over his face. He'd already been terrifyingly open with her. But if he wanted the same back he'd have to go even further. He would have to go all the way.

He stood up before he could change his mind, took a deep breath, and then followed her into the kitchen. Ziva was standing over the kettle, biting her thumbnail as she stared off into space, but her head snapped around at his entrance. Her hand fell away from her mouth quickly and she smiled, but her nerves were as clear as day. It gave him a moment's pause to think that she may not be ready for what was coming, but it was too late for him to stop now. That'd just add another layer of complication to things in the long run.

She swallowed hard as he came around the kitchen counter and leaned back against her pantry doors. It left a few feet of breathing room between them.

"I don't want to be like Gibbs," he reminded her.

Ziva nodded slowly, remembering the conversation they'd had in her living room a few weeks ago. "I know."

"Or my dad."

She nodded again. "Yes, I know."

"Except in one way." He paused, searched for his courage, and then pressed ahead with his plan to start a family. "I don't know if you remember this, Ziva. But on the day we met, you were wearing this big brown shirt, unbuttoned over a white one. Cargo pants. This purple scarf in your hair." He gestured at his head.

Ziva's face visibly softened, and her chest rose with a deep, loud breath. "I do not remember," she told him, almost whispering after emotion had stolen her voice.

His heart squeezed at her physical reaction to his words. He wanted to grab her and hold her, but not yet. "Trust me," he told her with a quick, confident smile. "I remember. I don't know if I liked you very much right away, but the first time I saw you, you intrigued me. And I paid attention."

Ziva watched him quietly, still save for her chest rising high and falling low with her breathing.

"I think you've been informed what that means to the people in my family."

Her head barely lifted in a nod.

He pushed off the cupboard door and took half a step towards her, and then swallowed moisture back into his mouth. "So I just want you to know for sure," he said, "that I love you. That I want you. And that when or if you decide that you ever want me, then I'm ready."

Her eyes widened and filled with tears, and she stared at him with disbelief and hope and love. But she still didn't move. Or speak. Tony refused to take it as a rejection just yet. He took another step towards her and continued.

"I have been avoiding it and denying it for so long," he said, and then cleared his throat to get his voice back. "But the truth is that I feel the same as you. I need something in my life that makes me happy and makes it all worth it. And you make me happy, Ziva."

She bit her lip as her eyebrows drew together in the way they did before she cried. She stayed quiet. He took another step.

"I want more," he told her. "From you. And I want to give you more of me. I think I'd make you happy. Generally speaking," he hastened to add. "Because I get that you'll probably want to smack me with a kettle every now and then."

The joke was what broke her out of her paralysis, and Ziva dropped her chin to her chest and breathed out a chuckled that was touched by affection. "Tony," she sighed.

He took another step towards her until he was just outside her space. "I'm not pushing you," he said softly. "It might feel like it, but I'm not." He paused as she lifted her chin and met his eyes. "I just want you to know that I love you. Now and always."

Ziva glanced away briefly and she swiped at a tear before it reached her cheek. "Have you been practicing all that?" she asked.

"No."

She lifted an eyebrow. "Really? Because it was very impressive."

He allowed himself to smile and joke with her, but only after he'd determined that she wasn't going to flat out reject him. "It was, wasn't it?"

For the first time, Ziva shuffled closer to him. "If I ever want you?" she repeated.

He swallowed and nodded quickly. "Yeah. Any time."

She sucked her bottom lip into her mouth as her eyes made a quick scan of him, and it did things to his pulse that he thought he should have warmed up for first. "All the time?" she asked. Her voice was stronger, and he felt her shock ebbing away.

He smiled again, feeling more confident now that she seemed to be responding more like herself. "Boy, I hope so."

"When I am ready."

He deflated again. It sounded like she was going to make him wait. But he nodded, keeping his word. "Yes."

She looked at him then—_really_ looked at him like she did at people when she was looking for the truth. "I believe you when you say that these things are important to you. A family of your own. Someone to love. And that you want them with me—"

"I do," he shot in.

Ziva melted into a smile and swayed towards him. "Tony, I cannot tell you how happy that makes me. And how blessed I feel. Because I love you too, and I want those things with you."

Her admission stole his breath and brought him such a dizzying sense of happiness that for a moment he felt too weak to stand. He reached out to her, but Ziva caught his hand and held it between them.

"But," she said pointedly. "I do not want you to do this in grief. You know what I want, and I know what you want. And that won't change tomorrow. Or next week. Or next month. So I will same the same to you: when you decide that you want me, and that you are ready, I will be too."

It took a few moments, but it finally sank in that this was why she'd hesitated and fought admitting to what she'd wanted before. She was worried that he was acting out of grief and panic, and that he might regret making a move when he was under so much stress. But although she was right—he _was_ acting out of grief and panic—she was wrong that he'd regret it. Moving on her would be the best thing to have come out of the rollercoaster of emotion he'd been on lately.

He squeezed her hand. "I know what you're saying, but these feelings for you aren't new to me. I've had them for a long time. The guts to talk to you are the only thing that's new. And I might just have Dad to thank for them."

She smiled, but gave him another chance to reconsider. "I do not want you to wish you had waited."

"I won't," he assured her. "I _wish_ I'd done this sooner. I'm ready when you are."

Ziva nodded, and then turned around and went to the kettle. She switched it off, and then turned again and came back to him. "Okay, then. I am ready, DiNozzo."

A slow smile stretched over his face. "Yeah?"

She stepped right up close to him again and gripped the bottom of his t-shirt, and then tilted her face up to his. "I love you," she breathed. "I want you. So let's do this before we lose our nerve."

And he couldn't do anything but smile with all the happiness in him before Ziva pulled him against her and kissed him with abandon.

It was the first step towards their own family.

* * *

><p><strong>Thanks for reading guys!<br>Pre-emptive As to the Qs I know are coming: I don't really have any more stories planned. The show is currently providing me with a great level of satisfaction, so I don't have the urge to write anything to the contrary of the cannon storyline. It doesn't mean I'm retiring, exactly. But I will certainly never start posting another story before I've finished it. And since it takes me months to write a whole multi-chapter story, I expect I'll be quiet for that long, at least. You might hear from me again during hiatus :)**


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